Contract with Consequences

CHAPTER TWELVE

JOHN was still sitting up in his bed, watching television, at eleven-fifteen. It was a deep-sea fishing documentary which would normally have interested him. But his mind kept wandering. The only reason he had the TV on was that he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Scarlet.

He now regretted his decision to leave making love to Scarlet till tomorrow. His desire had deepened with each minute he spent with her. Even when she was being sassy or actively rude, he wanted her. Actually, the sassier she was, the more he wanted her. It was all rather perverse. He could not wait till the morning. Yet he would have to, he supposed. He could hardly barge into her bedroom at this late hour and demand she honour their deal, particularly when she was fast asleep. That would hardly endear him to her. Which would be a shame, considering they were getting along surprisingly well, despite the sarcastic repartee which they both seemed compelled to indulge in. But what the hell? He’d enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, the evening had ended shortly after the meal was over, with Scarlet claiming total exhaustion.

He’d listened to her in the shower as he’d cleaned up the kitchen, his mind bombarded with the image of her standing there naked whilst jets of hot water streamed over her shoulders and back. Before long the image had become a fully fledged sexual fantasy. In his head she’d turned around so that the water splashed over her face and threw her head back, arching her spine so that her breasts were thrust up towards the water, gasping when it beat against her erect nipples, her belly quivering with anticipation.

Because of course in this fantasy she hadn’t been alone. He’d been there in the shower, close behind her, watching and waiting. But not for long. Soon, she’d handed him a cake of soap and asked him to wash her. Which he had, oh so slowly, all over. It was deliciously decadent, the way she’d moaned. And the way she’d moved, parting her legs and inviting him in.

Unfortunately, she’d switched the shower off at that point, leaving him so damned frustrated that he could have screamed. He’d quickly headed for a shower himself, a cold one, where shards of icy water had lashed his overheated body till it was devoid of desire. But it was only a temporary solution. By the time he’d dried himself and climbed into bed shortly after eight-thirty, John had briefly contemplated doing something about the situation himself but abandoned that idea when he remembered that too much ejaculation lowered a man’s sperm count. After all, Scarlet was depending on him.

No, not him especially, John reminded himself when he found himself feeling smug over this idea. Just about anyone would do. No point in pretending you’re anything special to Scarlet.

It was perverse that this fact irked him. Male egos had a lot to answer for, John decided.

The sudden knock on his bedroom door had his heart almost jumping out of his chest. Which was ridiculous, for it could only be Scarlet.

‘Come in,’ he called out. ‘I’m still awake,’ he added somewhat unnecessarily. She could obviously see light under his door and hear the television on, otherwise she wouldn’t have knocked. For a split second, John indulged in a new fantasy, one where she hadn’t been able to sleep and had come to seduce him dressed in a provocative negligee.

It was a fantasy soon dashed when she opened the door and stood there in the most unprovocative nightwear he’d ever seen. Not that the pink polka-dotted shortie pyjamas she was wearing were unattractive. They were quite cute, but in the night light, with her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair up in a pony-tail, Scarlet looked as she’d looked when she’d been sixteen.

He’d found her indescribably sexy when she’d been sixteen. His own sixteen-year-old hormones had been raging. He’d been secretly dying to go to her sixteenth birthday party; had even planned to be nice to her. But an invitation had never arrived for him. She hadn’t wanted him then and she didn’t really want him now. He was just a means to an end.

‘Sorry to bother you, John,’ she said as she stood there, looking somewhat embarrassed. ‘But I’ve woken up with this most awful headache. I looked in all the cupboards in the bathroom and kitchen for some pain killers but couldn’t find any.’

‘Really? I thought I put some headache pills in the cupboard above the fridge.’

‘Oh, I didn’t look in that one. It was too high up.’

‘Never mind, I have some in my bathroom cupboard. I’ll just go get them for you.’

Scarlet stiffened when he threw back his bed covers, suddenly afraid that he was naked. He’d looked naked, sitting there, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his chest totally bare right down to his waistline. But he was actually wearing a pair of black satin boxer shorts, slung low on his hips.

‘What do you want?’ he threw over his shoulder as he padded across the rug towards the bathroom. ‘Paracetemol, or something stronger?’

‘Nothing with codeine in it,’ she replied. ‘That makes me feel sick.’

‘Paracetemol it is, then.’ He returned a minute later with two tablets in one hand and a glass of water in the other. ‘Drink all the water,’ he advised as he handed both over to her. ‘The flight and the alcohol have probably left you dehydrated.’

Scarlet did as she was told, gazing up at the television on the wall whilst she gulped down the water. It was better than ogling John, though he was well worth ogling. He really did have a great body-broad at the shoulder and slim at the hips, with a washboard stomach and just enough muscle in his arms and legs to look strongly masculine without being muscle bound. He wasn’t overly hairy either, but there was a nice sprinkling of dark curls in the middle of his tanned chest-a chest which Scarlet wouldn’t mind running her hands over. That was a startling thought for a girl who’d never taken the initiative in love-making in her entire life.

‘Thank you,’ she said when she handed the empty glass back to him. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘No bother. No, don’t go,’ he said abruptly when she turned to leave. ‘Stay and watch TV with me till your headache goes.’

Scarlet had to admit that she was tempted. The thought of going back to the guest bedroom, alone, was not appealing. She suspected she might find it hard to go back to sleep, not because of the headache but because of the agitating thoughts which kept running through her head. Thoughts of John and sex. She turned back to face him, then glanced at the TV. ‘Could we watch something else rather than fishing?’

‘Absolutely. You can have control of the remote. There are loads of channels to choose from.’

‘But where will I sit?’ There was a two-seater lounger against one wall but it was under the television.

‘In bed next to me, of course,’ he said.

She stared at him, knowing full well what would eventually happen if she climbed into that bed.

‘I promise I won’t touch you, Scarlet,’ he said, his eyes locking with hers. ‘Not unless you want me to.’

Scarlet shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t know what I want any more.’

‘That’s because you over-think everything. Time to just let nature takes its course. You find me attractive, don’t you?’

Her eyes swept over his near-naked body once more. ‘Yes,’ she choked out.

‘And you enjoyed my kissing you earlier?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed again.

‘How’s the headache now?’

‘What? Oh, er, not as bad, actually.’

‘Ten more minutes and you’ll feel much better, especially if you lie down in my very comfy bed and let me stroke your hair.’

‘Stroke my hair,’ she repeated numbly, an erotic quiver running down her spine.

‘You’ll have to take it down out of that pony-tail of course,’ he said. ‘Here, I’ll do it for you.’

He moved behind her, his hands swift and sure as they removed the rubber band, letting her hair tumble free over her shoulders.

‘This way,’ he said, and led her over to the bed where he threw back the covers before suddenly whirling and scooping her up into his arms.

Scarlet gasped in shock, both at the speed of his actions and the way it felt, being held hard against his naked chest. Her arms automatically lifted to wind themselves around his neck, her eyes blinking wide as they met his.

‘Like I said earlier,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve always wanted to sweep you off your feet. Now, don’t say anything sarcastic, Scarlet. I know you’re itching to. I can see it in your face. But this is not the time for one-upmanship. It’s time for you to just trust me.’

As surprising as it was, she did trust him, almost as much as she desired him. It was a strange situation, one which brought a puzzled frown to her face, until she winced as a new wave of pain hit her.

‘That headache is still bothering you, isn’t it?’ he said sympathetically as he lowered her onto the bed, her head and shoulders sinking into the layers of black pillows propped against the bedhead.

‘I think, under the circumstances,’ he added as he strode round the other side of the bed and climbed in next to her, ‘that watching television is not a good idea.’ So saying, he picked up the remote and turned the TV off. ‘What you need to do is close your eyes and relax.’

He scowled when he leant over and saw her eyes were still wide open.

‘Scarlet King, do you know you have a problem with obedience? Close your eyes!’

In days gone by-in fact in just hours gone by-Scarlet might have shot back some smart remark. But she was way too preoccupied to indulge in witty repartee at that moment. Way too turned on as well. She could not wait for him to touch her, even if it was just stroking her head. Because she knew that it wouldn’t end there.

So she closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting in an agony of anticipation for her seduction to begin.