down in a narrow line, provocatively pointing to the impressive evidence of his sexual arousal.
He certainly didn’t disappoint on the physical front. Ivy’s inner muscles quivered at the sight of him. Her hands itched to touch, her breasts yearned to feel his weight on her, her arms and legs buzzed in anticipation of curling around him, holding all that male power, feeling it. She had never known such compelling, urgent lust for a man.
But when he came to her, he caught her reaching hands and held them above her head. He lay beside her with one strong thigh slung across both of hers, locking them down. ‘I want to taste all of you, Ivy,’ he said, his hotly simmering gaze dropping to her breasts.
Her breath caught in her throat as he dipped his head and circled one aureole with his tongue, causing her nipple to harden further into a taut bullet. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the wild flow of sensations as he licked and sucked. He was so good at it, soft and slow, flicking, lashing, drawing her flesh into his mouth at just the right strength. It was so blissful, her back instinctively arched, inviting him to do more, take more.
She slithered her hands out of his grasp, wanting, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to glide her fingers over his back, to press him closer, imprint all of him on her memory. She felt his flesh flinch under her caresses and smiled, knowing he found it erotic, glad she excited him as much as he excited her.
‘Can’t wait,’ he muttered, jerking up to change position, swiftly inserting his leg between hers.
At last, she thought exultantly, moving just as swiftly to accommodate him, to give him achingly ready access for the intimacy she craved. A wave of ecstatic satisfaction swept through her as he thrust inward, filling the yearning core of her need. She fiercely embraced him, her legs goading him into a hectic rhythm, harder, faster, deeper, revelling in the explosive action, feeling it drive her closer and closer to the exquisite splintering chaos of intense pleasure he had given her earlier tonight.
He took her there again.
With even more shattering intensity.
Ivy heard herself cry out at the incredible peak of tension before it broke, flooding her with a tsunami of sweet sensation. Some loud unintelligible sound broke from his throat, too, and he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She hugged him tightly, wallowing in the possessiveness of the moment, loving him for the gift of this marvellous experience.
He rolled onto his side, carrying her with him, hugging her just as tightly. Her head was tucked under his chin. He kissed her hair, rubbing his mouth over it as though he had to taste that, too. Ivy felt drained of all energy, yet beautifully replete. A perfect feast, she thought contentedly. It had been right to give in to temptation. She would never forget this as long as she lived.
He started stroking her back, lovely, long, skin-tingling caresses. She sighed with pleasure. He knew exactly how to touch a woman. She wished she could always have a lover like him. It was a pity a relationship with him wouldn’t last, but Ivy was not about to fool herself on that score. She was a temporary episode in the life of Jordan Powell, and it was best for her to cut it short and not get too attached to him.
One night.
That was what she had decided.
It was a very sensible decision—one she would definitely keep.
‘This time we are going to do it nice and slow, Ivy,’ he said in a tone of determined purpose.
She smiled, wondering if it annoyed him that he hadn’t managed to completely control the pace. She stirred herself enough to say, ‘I liked it fine the way it was, but carry on as you like.’
If he wanted to do more, she was not about to object.
The night was still young.
She was happy to pack as much into it as he was capable of giving her.
IVY’S BODY-CLOCK WOKE her at six. It was her usual rising time at the farm. Still feeling tired from the night’s unusual activities, she could have easily gone back to sleep, but looking at the man lying beside her—the absolutely yummy and extremely seductive man—she decided this was the time to leave, before he woke up and used his very persuasive powers on her to stay with him for the weekend.
Which would be terribly tempting.
However, she was half in love with him already. What woman wouldn’t be after the night they had just spent together? Any longer with him would be getting in too deep and being dumped when he’d had his fill of her could hurt a lot. Better for her to do the dumping right now.
Her curiosity about him had certainly been satisfied. She hadn’t seen much of the house he lived in but that was relatively unimportant. Her gaze roved quickly around the bedroom as she eased herself off the bed. Everything was black and white, like the en suite bathroom she had visited during the night.
There were two paintings on the walls she hadn’t noticed before—both of them from Sydney Nolan’s Ned Kelly series. It seemed a strange choice to have the legendary Australian bushranger on display in his bedroom. Ivy had imagined there’d be something more erotic—nude scenes or whatever—but the black frames and the famous black armour Ned Kelly had worn did suit the decor.
The thick white carpet muffled any sound her footsteps might have made on her way to the bathroom. Very quietly she closed the door and had a quick wash. A black silk wrap-around robe hung from a hook near the shower. She borrowed it to wear down to the car—easier than redressing in the sequinned stuff, which she could put in the trunk where her normal clothes for driving were stowed. A quick change into them and she would be on her way.
Jordan was still sound asleep as she swept up her high-fashion gear and underclothes from the floor. Having crept out of the bedroom and closed the door on the scene of her surrender to temptation, she found herself on an inside balcony overlooking the foyer. It was easy to spot the staircase. She was bolting down it when a woman emerged from a room to the left of the foyer—smallish, grey-haired, wearing a white uniform.
They both halted in surprise at seeing each other.
The woman looked Ivy up and down, the expression on her face clearly saying, Here’s a new one.
It had to be the housekeeper, Ivy thought, trying to fight a hot tide of embarrassment.
‘Good morning,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Margaret Partridge, Jordan’s cook and housekeeper. You can call me Margaret. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘Hello,’ Ivy blurted out, grateful for the matter-of-fact tone of the other woman’s greeting though her heart was still thumping madly over being discovered in the act of doing a runner. ‘I’m Ivy…Ivy Thornton. I…uh…need to get some day clothes out of my car.’
‘I’ll unlock the front door for you,’ Margaret said obligingly, moving to do so. ‘I was just on my way to the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee? Jordan rarely rises before nine on a Saturday morning so there’s no need to hurry over anything.’
‘Thank you, but I won’t wait. I have to get home,’ Ivy explained in a rush, quickly resuming her descent to the foyer.
Margaret’s
