Rescue Operation

Sickness crawled through the pit of Chelsea’s stomach. Dear God, what was she going to do?

‘Look,’ she began desperately, ‘there’s been a mistake …’

‘Indeed there has,’ Slade agreed softly. ‘I don’t know what your game is—but I can make a pretty shrewd guess. However, this time you aren’t getting away with it. I’m no pigeon for the plucking, and perhaps it’s time that someone made you come up with the goods you’re so good at offering—and then withdrawing.’

Panic clawed at her. She wanted to scream at him that he didn’t understand; that she wasn’t what he thought but she knew with complete certainty that he wouldn’t believe her.

Impulsively she turned on her heel heading for the door, but she had barely moved a yard before she was stopped and lifted up bodily.

‘Oh no,’ Slade told her slowly. ‘Tonight there’s no running out on your obligations.’

He kicked open a door without bothering to switch on the light, and all Chelsea could see was the generous proportions of the king-size bed. She was dropped on to it without ceremony, her attempts to struggle upright suddenly ceasing as Slade closed the door and slowly started to remove his shirt. A fury she had not expected seemed to possess him.

Trapped in the sardonic gleam of his eyes, she could neither move nor think. One part of her mind registered the smooth tanned flesh of his shoulders, and the dark finely curling hair matting his chest; the play of sleek muscles as he moved and the male grace of a torso that tapered from broad shoulders into a narrow waist; while the other screamed in silent protest at the monstrosity of what was happening to her.

‘What’s wrong?’ The soft goading words brought the colour flooding to her face. ‘Don’t tell me you’re opting for maidenly modesty at this late stage in the game and you want me to do your undressing for you?’

Her control broke then, deep shudders wracking her body as she tried to tear her eyes from his body and failed. His hands were on his belt when she finally managed to drag her gaze away, and as he came towards her Chelsea shrank back.

She heard him swear, and then his hands were on her body, not roughly as she had anticipated, but dangerously skilful as they traced the bones of her shoulders, their path followed by his lips as he explored the vulnerability of her skin.

She started to protest, but the words were cut off by the sensual pressure of his mouth as it explored the shape of her own. Sensations she had never experienced before flooded over her. Of their own volition her lips seemed to soften and part, the sudden invasion of his mouth shocking her with conflicting emotions. One part of her longed to repudiate him; while another, hitherto unsuspected instinct urged her to yield to the sensuous pleasure he was invoking. His fingers were in her hair, freeing it from its chignon, and weaving themselves into it while he held her, making a leisurely inspection of her face with lips that teased and tantalised from her feelings she had never suspected she possessed.

Not even with Darren had she felt this dangerously seductive desire to abandon herself completely to a man’s possession. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts as she told herself that she had been celibate for too long; that what she was experiencing was the result of repressed emotions. She gave a small moan of protest, and Slade’s mouth returned immediately to hers, probing her half parted lips.

She was so engrossed in trying to rationalise the feelings she was experiencing that it was several seconds before she realised that Slade had released the zipper of her dress and was easing it slowly from her body. The knowledge froze her into shocked stillness, her instinctive impulse to conceal her bared breasts from him as the blue dress rustled to the floor, and shame washed over her as she remembered the brevity of her underwear, the sheer silk stockings and the perfume with which she had scented every inch of her skin.

Slade’s, ‘You certainly believe in dressing for the part, don’t you?’ held an unexpected contemptuous anger that burned into her, reinforced by his mocking laughter when he saw the way she had crossed her arms over her breasts.

‘What the hells’s that for?’ he demanded grittily. ‘Enticement? Don’t overplay your hand; believe me, that dress you were wearing was enticement enough!’

When she didn’t move but lay staring up at him in frozen horror his mockery gave way to anger, his fingers biting into her wrists as he grasped them, dragging them away from her body, no mercy in the eyes that scrutinised every centimetre of exposed flesh.

Unable to stop herself, Chelsea cringed, hating him for making her so vulnerable; for confusing her by kissing her the way he had; and now for destroying her pride and self-respect. She shuddered to think that by the time the evening was over he would know her body more intimately than she did herself, and although she had always told herself that her virginity was more accident than design, now when she was on the verge of losing it she knew that some tiny corner of her heart had never entirely given up the hope that she would give it to a man who loved her as she loved him.

‘You really know all the tricks, don’t you?’ Slade breathed savagely. ‘But feigning reluctance won’t work with me. I’m not some gullible fool easily bewitched by a pair of dark blue eyes and a vulnerable mouth. But in one respect at least I’m just like any other man.’ He glanced down at her body, and Chelsea felt the tension in him.

‘I want you,’ he said thickly, and as he raised his head she thought she saw bitter anger in the eyes which were already beginning to glaze with desire.

His hands left her wrists to cup her breasts, his eyes holding hers as his thumbs moved arousingly against the pink flesh of her nipples.

Shock gave way to fear as she felt their unmistakable betrayal, and a small moan escaped from her clenched teeth as the tormenting caress continued and Slade’s lips moved tantalisingly along her throat, investigating the tremors running over her skin.

Quite when her arms slid round his neck she didn’t know, but one moment, it seemed, they were at her sides and the next they were clinging to the breadth of his shoulders, exploring the male bone structure before sliding sensuously over his back.

This time when he kissed her she had no thought of holding back, the harsh rasp of his body hair against the sensitised tips of her breasts was so intensely pleasurable. She was lost—drowning in a sea of new sensations, each one more pleasurable than the last. When Slade lowered his head and trailed burning kisses against the curve of each breast fireworks seemed to explode inside her, compelling her to arch urgently against him and gasp on a wave of burning pleasure as his tongue stroked roughly against the aroused tautness of her nipples. Lost in a rainbow-coloured cloud of feeling, she dimly heard Slade’s hoarse groan as he lifted his mouth from her breast and slid his hands urgently over the gentle swell of her stomach, shocking her into sudden awareness of where she was and with whom.

‘Slade, no!’ she protested, her desire abating as self-revulsion swamped her.

‘Damn you,’ he swore hoarsely, ‘you can’t tell me “no” now! God knows why when I know what you are, but I want you more than I’ve wanted any woman in a long time. There’s something about you …’ He shifted slightly, studying her pale outline and watching the movement of his own hand as it moved over her skin. Chelsea shivered, shocked that even now her body seemed to have a mind of its own, wantonly responding to his touch.

‘Slade …’

The sudden shrill ring of the phone shocked her into silence. Slade swore, and for a moment she thought he intended to ignore it, but eventually he got up and left, closing the door behind him. Chelsea heard him pick up the receiver and was suddenly galvanised into action.

Her dress lay on the floor, but she ignored it. She daren’t waste time. Her coat was on a chair and she pulled it on, snatching up her bag as she slid’ into her shoes, praying that Slade’s caller would keep him occupied for long enough for her to escape. Another door led off the bedroom into an inner hall which as she had hoped opened into the marble foyer.

Her fingers trembled over the latch, made clumsy by her desperation, but at last the door was open. Not daring to slam it behind her in case the sound alerted Slade to her escape, she fled downstairs and into the cold darkness of the night.

By fortunate chance she was able to pick up a taxi just outside the apartment, and within ten minutes of leaving Slade she was inserting her key in her own front door.

Once inside she locked and barred the door, quickly stripping off everything that she had been wearing and hurrying into the bathroom, where she quickly showered, grimacing with distaste as she tried to banish from her mind her fevered response to Slade’s touch.

By the time she was dried and dressed in her nightclothes she had managed to persuade herself that she had over-exaggerated her own response, and that far from experiencing pleasure in Slade’s arms what she had actually felt was revulsion. How could she feel anything else when not even Darren had been able to arouse her to desire? She stifled an hysterical laugh as she dwelled on Slade’s reaction to finding that she had fled, leaving merely her dress. That dress—she shuddered. If she never saw it again she would be more than happy. Thank God Slade didn’t know her address. He had been so determined to make her pay for the pleasure of his company that she wouldn’t have put it past him to suddenly arrive at her flat, demanding that they take up where they had left off. It was ridiculous really, but just before the phone rang she had had the impression that he resented her. He had told her that he ‘wanted’ her, but men were notorious for their purely physical desire. Sickness welled up inside her and she raced to the bathroom, gagging suddenly as reaction set in. Dear God! To think it could have been Kirsty in her place tonight. Knowing that made everything’ she had endured worthwhile. Her last thought as sleep claimed her was that she was glad that she would soon be going north and that there was scant chance of her ever meeting Slade Ashford again. Lutons was only one of the companies he owned, and once the takeover had been sorted out to his satisfaction Ralph was doubtful that Melchester would see very much of him. Thank goodness!

The impatient ringing of the telephone penetrated the deep layers of sleep blanketing her, and Chelsea reached muzzily for the extension phone at her bedside.

‘Chelsea—thank God, for a moment I thought Slade must have done away with you! I’ve rung twice already. I thought you weren’t there.’

‘I’m fine, Ann,’ she lied numbly. If Slade Ashford had had his way she wouldn’t have been, unless it was his practice to send his women home once he had finished with them.

‘Thank heavens for that!’ her sister breathed. ‘Ralph was furious with me for letting you leave with Slade. He told me that after the way you’d been playing up to him all night Slade might quite naturally have thought that you wanted to spend the night with him as well as the evening.’

‘I’m fine,’ Chelsea lied again. She had no wish to remember the black anger in Slade’s eyes when he had touched her body. Disgust for her own behaviour flooded through her. She had never thought of herself as sexually repressed, ‘sex-starved’ to the point where she would respond physically to any experienced man—just the opposite; and yet last night …

‘How’s Kirsty?’ she asked her sister, trying to obliterate Slade Ashford from her mind.

‘She seems fine,’ Ann told her. ‘In fact she seemed more puzzled than distressed about you going off with Slade. Perhaps she’s just trying to put on a brave front—I don’t know, but I do know one thing—she’s going out with Lance James tonight, to some disco. All we have to do now is to make sure that the rift becomes permanent. I don’t suppose you …’

‘No way,’ Chelsea told her firmly. ‘I’ve done my femme fatale bit to death—besides, I’ll be leaving at the end of the week.’

‘Ralph says I’m not to worry. He persists in believing that Slade was merely indulging Kirsty. He says a man like Slade doesn’t need to chase after seventeen-year-old schoolgirls, no matter how pretty they are … Are you sure you’re all right?’ Ann persisted. ‘You sound strange. Look, why don’t you come over …’

‘Ann, I’m fine,’ Chelsea interrupted firmly. With the night behind her it was easier to convince herself that she must have exaggerated her body’s response to Slade’s skilled lovemaking.

With a sudden start of horror she relived her flight from Slade’s apartment, shuddering with distaste as she recalled the way she had been dressed. Her dress! Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. What was more important—the loss of a dress, or the loss of her self-respect? Besides, something told her that she would never have been able to wear it again, because at the back of her mind was the knowledge that it was tainted for her by the way she had behaved while wearing it.

For Slade Ashford it had been nothing more than simply another brief sexual encounter; an automatic male response to an available woman; a casual acceptance of a way of life which was totally alien to her.

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