The guests all appeared to know where to go. They filed through a door at the back of the sitting room into a large dining room, its walls decorate with a collection of Chinese Imari plates. The vast mahogany dining table had been laid with what the Victorians called a cold collation. There was a whole salmon in aspic, a glass bowl full of crevettes — their tails hanging over its edge, several dozen oysters, plates of salami and cold meats, as well as potato, tomato, green and pasta salads. There were silver sauce boats filled with mayonnaise, cocktail sauce, and vinaigrette dressing, and baskets full of a variety of different breads. At the far end were a selection of desserts, glazed strawberry and raspbe tarts, a concoction of meringue and chocolate, and a huge mound of profiteroles as well as a crystal bowl of fresh fruit salad. Several bottles of red and white wine had been opened and stood next to sparkling solid silver cutlery, white crockery, crystal glasses and starched linen
THE PHONE RANG twice before she picked it up. ‘Hello?’ ‘Clare?’ It was Bridget’s voice. ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you busy?” ‘No.’ ‘Have you eaten?’ ‘No. I thought you were going home today?’‘I stayed over. I’m scheduled on a flight on Sunday afternoon. Would you have dinner with me?’ Clare would have liked to say no. ‘Of course.’ ‘Pick me up in half an hour.’ Having dinner with Bridget Goldsmith was not Clare’s first choice for a Saturday evening. Her first, second and third choice would have been Gary Newby, especially after last night. What she had seen may not have excited her directly but it had left her with a desperate yearning for sex; not sex in general but sex in particular, sex with Gary. Going to bed with Gary, with all his energy and power, and his simple, uncomplicated sexual needs, would wipe away the slightly disorientated feeling she’d had all day. Like Alice, after inhabiting the world behind the looking glass, she found the real world distinctly odd. After everything
‘Let’s go then. Have you seen Gary?’ for once he turned to look at Clare. ‘Gary?’ Just the sound of his name sent a shock-wave down to her sex. Clare was clearly in the same state as Bridget. ‘Yeah. He called me about ten. Said he was coming over.’ ‘Here?’ Clare said in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her luck. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Who's Gary?’ Bridget asked. Her fingers were drawing delicate patterns on the top of Malcolm’s hand. ‘A friend of mine,’ Clare told her. ‘Another viscount?’ Malcolm laughed. ‘Gary’s a prince among men but he ain’t no lord. We’re both from the other end of the social ladder. We went to school together.’ ‘Well, I haven’t seen him,’ Clare said. ‘Perhaps he’s upstairs.’ Clare looked puzzled. ‘In the flat. He’s got a key,’ Malcolm explained. ‘He can use it whenever he likes. Come on, let's go and see.’ They got up. Malcolm grabbed a passing waiter. ‘Have the booze sent up, there’s a good boy,’ he said. 'Certainly, Mr Furness.’ The waiter collected the bottle f
In the small hours, watching as the first tendrils of light found the gaps in the curtains at her bedroom window, she experienced a whole panoply of emotions. Anger. Disgust. Excitement. Regret. She went from being angry with herself for not having turned and walked out of Malcolm’s loft as soon as she’d seen what was going on, to being so sexually excited at the memories of what had happened that her whole body came alive, her nipples stiffened, her sex moist. She experienced disgust and revulsion at what she had seen — at what she’d allowed herself to participate in - followed instantly by regret that she had not done more, that she had not had the courage to take the black stripper or pursue the desire she had felt to see if the experiment with Liza could have been repeated with Angela. She regretted, more than anything, that she’d told Gary she was tired and wanted to go home alone. It was all very confusing and lack of sleep didn’t help. She couldn’t work out whether she was an
Synopsis:Struggling painter Clare is bored with her boyfriend and tempted by the charming Steve. So when his wife asks her to paint Steve's portrait, Clare finds herself indulging in some passionate studies of both her model and her client . . .Chapter 1BEAUTY ARTICLES IN glossy magazines always say that the best way to match a foundation to your skin is to try it out directly on your face, rather than on your wrist where the skin is, quite simply, a totally different colour. It’s a great theory, Clare thought, applying the rules of Max Factor to the medium of Monet, as she daubed a little more paint on to her model’s cheeks. He twitched nervously — and excitedly, she hoped, since it wasn’t the cheeks of his face that she was trying to match. ‘That’s cold,’ he complained. ‘Perfect,’ Clare exclaimed, ignoring her model’s little moans. She dashed back to her canvas with palette in hand and added another sweeping stroke to her latest nude. They were selling like hot cakes. Flying ou
THE DRAGON GALLERY was just about the best place to have your work displayed in town, next to the new Tate of course. It was near enough to that more famous gallery to ensure a steady flow of customers who were slightly more interested in art than average and therefore slightly more willing than average to pay for it. Graham, the gallery owner, greeted Clare with that grin of his that always made her queasy. He held out the money from the sale of her paintings in a brown envelope and moved it backwards as she reached for it, forcing her to topple forwards so that her nose ended up buried in his sleeveless maroon jumper. ‘Oops,’ he exclaimed, helping Clare regain her balance by pushing her upright by the tits. Clare brushed herself off, snatched the money and tried to laugh light-heartedly. She couldn’t afford to have him put up his commission for the sake of a little painful flirtation. She counted out the money. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ he asked, slipping an arm around her squirmmgs
‘DO YOU WANT to come to Graham’s party?’ Clare asked Daniel as she slicked on another layer of deep plummy lipstick. ‘I feel that I’ve got to go because Graham has been so good about taking my paintings but it’ll just be full of people from the art society talking about their children’s piano lessons and mortgages and...’ Daniel was already shaking his head. A thrill of excitement raced through her. She was going to the party on her own. ‘You look very pretty,’ Daniel said as he wandered into the bedroom. Clare smiled her thanks, feeling a little guilty over the effort she had been making. But she didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, she reminded herself . . . yet. ‘Shall I help you do that up?’ Daniel began to button up the back of Clare’s long red silk dress. It was stunning, but not in an obvious way, clinging tightly to the contours of her breasts and her waist before flaring gently out in a sweep of fabric that reached her ankles. She felt covered and yet revealed. The fe
WHEN CLARE GOT back to the flat in the early hours of the morning, Daniel was already in bed. When he asked where she had been she told him that she had stayed behind, with a few of the others, to help clear up after the party. Then, she continued, they all went back to Graham’s house for a night-cap. Clare claimed that a girl Daniel didn’t know had given her a lift home. He didn’t question her any further. ‘Come to bed,’ he murmured, stretching an arm out from beneath the duvet. Clare shook her head. ‘I want to get some painting done while I’m still in the mood,’ she told him. ‘Graham wants some more boat pics for the weekend.’ ‘But it’s the middle of the night!’ Daniel exclaimed. ‘And I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to come back so that I could help you off with that dress .. .’ A guilty shudder ran through her but Clare gaily shrugged her shoulders as she reminded him, 'You can’t choose when you're going to get hit with a flash of inspiration.’ ‘See if I care,’ he grunte
‘I'm off to bed,’ Harriet told Rowena. ‘It was a lovely evening.’ Rowena peered at her through the smoke of one of her rare cigarettes. ‘Did you enjoy it? You don’t look very happy.’ ‘I’m just tired. I’m not used to such late hours!’ ‘Have you seen my brother?’ ‘Chris went into the garden,’ Harriet told her. Rowena smiled. ‘He's drunk too much. I'll say goodnight to Lewis for you; he’s busy right now.’ The woman with her laughed. ‘He certainly is. Marita keeps most men busy. She nearly killed my husband last year!’ Rowena’s laughter joined her friend’s and Harriet fled upstairs, certain that they were secretly mocking her. She lay awake until six in the morning but Lewis didn’t join her, and she guessed then that the story must have been true and Marita had kept him busy. At first she wept, but then she told herself that crying was useless. A man like that was bound to be used to casual affairs — what she had to do was make herself indispensable to him, no matter what was nece
FOR THE NEXT two nights Lewis spent hours in either Harriet’s or his own room, bringing her time and again to the heights of ecstasy she had come to expect from him, and every time she climaxed, every time he taught her something new, she was bound more closely to him. The fact that he was slowly being bound more closely to her was something Lewis chose to ignore. Then, on the Saturday, everything changed. Harriet had been surprised to be invited to the dinner party, and had cancelled her planned evening with Ella because she didn’t want to miss the chance of a genuine film star’s party. Ella green with envy, had understood but demanded a full report in exchange for being let down. ‘I want to hear all about what Rowena wore, ate, drank and how she behaved,’ she told Harriet. ‘Of course. I'll tell you about Lewis too.’ ‘I’m sure you will,’ said Ella, who already had her suspicions about Harriet and the star's husband. When they finally sat down to dinner, Harriet found that she wa
Lewis’s own erection had now subsided but at the sight of Harriet being aroused to new and only dimly understood heights, he felt himself start to stir again. As the startling feelings continued to grow, Harriet’s breasts began to ache and after only a slight hesitation she reached up, drawing Lewis’s head down towards her. ‘Tell me what you want,’ he murmured. ‘My breasts,’ she moaned, thrusting them up towards his mouth. “They ache.’ ‘And what do you want me to do about it?’ he teased. Harriet didn’t know if she could tell him, but the insistent clamouring of her needy flesh won over her deeply ingrained reticence at vocalising her desires. ‘Suck them for me, Lewis, please.’ ‘Hard or soft?’ he asked, his hand still continuing its pressing movements and his finger drawing up the clitoral hood as he worked so that he could brush lightly across the top of the exposed nub. ‘Hard!’ she begged, her body now nothing but a pressurised aching need for the final stimuation that would a
THAT EVENING CHRIS and Rowena went to the opera. Lewis hated opera. ‘Good music spoilt by bad acting,’ was his opinion and nothing he saw ever made him change his mind. After they'd gone he went in search of Harriet and found her reading a book in the comfort of the drawingroom. ‘We've got the house to ourselves,’ he said with a smile. ‘How would you like a nice bath? We can use the tub in Rowena’s bathroom - it’s meant for two.’ Harriet lifted her eyes from the page. ‘I had a shower this morning, thanks.’ For a moment Lewis couldn’t believe he’d heard her correctly. “You don’t have to be dirty,’ he said with a laugh. ‘It’s meant to be a sensual pleasure.’ Harriet smiled in an absent-minded way. ‘I’m sure it would be, but I’m a bit tired tonight.’ Since nothing in his imaginary script had prepared Lewis for this he was totally at a loss. ‘I'd like it,’ he said slowly. ‘Doesn’t that matter to you?’ With a soft sigh Harriet put the book to one side. ‘Of course it does, Lewis, but
Harriet felt that she was going to explode. Her body was being racked by liquid fire and then the incessant drumming of the pulse between her legs changed to a startlingly intense tingling that felt hot and rushed upwards through her with terrifying speed. She shouted out loud, knowing that she could no longer keep her body still even to please this man who meant so much to her. At the sound Lewis moved his fingers to the side of her clitoris and rubbed the slippery tissue with tiny circular motions as he moved in and out of her, his own body straining for relief from the continuous sexual tension as much as Harriet’s. It was Harriet who came first and as her body went taut with the first fierce contractions of her orgasm her vaginal walls contracted tightly around Lewis so that she felt as though she was milking him. She heard him groan and then he was thrusting without thought for her, thrusting solely to give himself the satisfaction that he knew Harriet was about to get. Harri
LEWIS STARED AT Harriet, hiding his anger behind a mask of indifference. Inwardly he was raging, not only at the fact that she had come into the room uninvited but also at his own stupidity in allowing Rowena to persuade him to make love to her at a time when he should have been concentrating solely on Harriet. ‘Rowena will be with you in a moment,’ he said smoothly, his arousal dissipating at great speed. Harriet’s eyes were wide and she stared at her employer as Rowena, ignoring the younger woman's presence, continued to move herself up and down on Lewis until with a cry of pleasure her body gave itself over to the warm flooding joy of orgasm. Harriet knew that she should leave the room but her legs seemed unable to move. She stayed rooted to the spot watching Rowena’s total abandonment to her sexuality. She felt almost consumed by envy, having spent most of her waking hours imagining what her next sexual encounter with Lewis would be like. Now she was forced to face the fact tha
Harriet was shocked by his casual acceptance of what they’d seen. Rowena was his wife, and even an open marriage didn’t usually include letting your wife have sex with her half-brother. She decided he was simply good at hiding his emotions, and that this was the only way he could cope with the situation. She was wrong. Lewis was drawn to Rowena sexually; like most men he admired her body and found her sexual magnetism alluring, but emotionally he was untouched by her. Their marriage had suited him as much as it suited her. The joining together of his analytical, muchadmired director's brain and her renowned sexuality and beauty had attracted almost as much attention in Hollywood as Marilyn Monroe’s marriage to Arthur Miller. Looking into the bedroom again, Harriet realised that Rowena’s first priority didn’t seem to be freedom from her bonds so much as freedom from her frustration, for once she failed to loosen her wrists she got to her feet and stood in front of one of the bed-post
WHEN LEWIS LED Harriet into a tiny room two doors down the landing from his bedroom she thought first that she was in a cupboard, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she realised that it had originally been intended as a dressing room, although the adjoining door had now been filled in. There was little furniture there, only a high backed chair and a two-seater settee in front of a square window, which let in no light at all. She turned to Lewis in bewilderment. ‘What is this room?’ ‘Sit here next to me on the sofa and look carefully at the window,’ he said softly. Puzzled, she stared at the glass, and after a few seconds realised that she was looking into a distinctly feminine bedroom lavishly decorated in various shades of lilac. As she watched, a figure crossed her line of vision, and she saw Rowena walking totally naked from her adjoining bathroom back to her bed. Harriet ducked down and Lewis laughed. ‘She can’t see you, it’s a two-way mirror.’ ‘You mean, anyone
Every nerve in Harriet’s body seemed to be alive now. She was trembling with excitement and frantic for more intimate touches but when she reached for his hand to try and move it where she wanted he shook his head. ‘It’s better to wait,’ he assured her. In the adjoining room Chris felt his own breathing quicken. Lewis was playing her with consummate skill, and her restlessly moving legs and upthrusting young breasts were testimony to her arousal. He himself was hard, and longed to be allowed to join in, to take the girl in the ways that he liked, the ways that kept Rowena enthralled. He was surprised by his reaction. Normally he would simply have wanted Rowena more than ever, but he knew that he was going to have to have Harriet before too long. At last Lewis took pity on Harriet and lightly kneaded some of the lotion into each of her breasts in turn. He heard her breath catch in her throat and her eyes were grateful. Then, to Harriet’s surprise, he moved himself up the bed so that