Cathy Kelly 3-Book Collection 1: Lessons in Heartbreak, Once in a Lifetime, Homecoming

He found the tender skin behind her ear and nuzzled there, making her moan with pure pleasure, and then his strong fingers were cupping the curve of her breasts, finding the buttons on the collar of her dress, sliding in urgently to find naked skin. They moved slightly and Jamie’s hand reached beneath the satin of her brassiere to touch the hard peak of her nipple, on fire from his caresses. She gasped and leaned into his touch.

No man had ever touched her so intimately.

He opened her dress fully at the front, unbuttoning so that he could see one heavy breast and take the rose peak into his mouth.

‘Oh, Jamie,’ she groaned and let herself fall against him.

Suddenly, he’d pulled her over to the kitchen table, a huge wooden thing with a scrubbed surface. He sat her on it and moved between her legs, so that he was imprisoned between her thighs. She could feel the scratchy wool of his trousers against the soft flesh above her stockings. His body was urging hers closer, so that her legs were almost wrapped around him.

Jamie was strong, vibrant and fiercely male: she could feel him hard against her, his body responding to hers in a primeval way. And she wanted him.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he moaned, finding her mouth again and kissing her.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ He was serious.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I don’t. I never want this to stop.’

For a brief second, they stared at each other, the spell momentarily broken.

‘I don’t want it to be like this,’ he said gently, ‘on the kitchen table in someone else’s house. But oh, I want you, Lily.’

‘Where then?’ she asked, her fingers instinctively caressing him, letting her hair brush against his face as her mouth traced the hard edge of his jaw. He moaned softly.

‘I don’t know. I won’t be able to stop,’ he said, ‘if you don’t stop what you’re doing right now.’

‘We don’t need to stop,’ she said, unable to believe herself. She, the girl who’d never been with any man, never let any man do more than kiss her, was writhing against this man, panting for him.

‘We do.’ He pulled her closer and held her, enfolding her, as if, by stopping her moving, he’d stop his body’s animal response to her. ‘Not here. Trust me.’

‘I do,’ she said, and she did. ‘I’ve never done this before.’ It was important he knew that because the war had loosened many people’s morals, not to mention their knicker elastic.

‘I know.’

‘How do you know?’

He grinned. ‘I just do. Philip told me about Sybil’s sister’s friends long before I ever met you. The wild Irish girl with ice and fire running in her veins. And I can tell. There isn’t a false bone in your body. I can feel it.’

She laughed loudly, exploding with the humour of the situation. ‘You can certainly feel every bit of me,’ she said affectionately, wriggling her hips and feeling his body react instantly.

‘Jamie, Lily – I hope you’re not eating all the chocolates. Leave some for the rest of us, you greedy pigs!’ It was Sybil.

‘Jesus!’ Lily struggled away from him at the sound of Sybil’s high heels marching towards the kitchen.

‘Nobody else wants liqueurs: they want to dance,’ Sybil went on, ‘but I’ve got to have something sweet after dinner.’

She was getting nearer. How awful if she found them semidressed.

Quickly, Lily did up her buttons and smoothed down her hair. Reaching up, she rubbed a smudge of red lipstick from Jamie’s mouth.

‘Coming, Sybil,’ Lily said loudly. ‘Can’t find the chocolates.’ She put her hand on the doorknob to open it. They were both respectable again, if a little flushed.

‘Lily –’ Jamie sounded urgent.

Lily turned the knob and opened the door. Four years of fear of Matron made her anxious about even being seen to do anything wrong. Whatever Jamie had to say to her, he could do it later.

‘There’s something I must tell you,’ he said.

Sybil was outside the door. ‘There you are,’ she said, smiling.

‘Sorry, Sybil,’ Lily said, doing her best to sound breezily unconcerned. ‘I had to bandage poor Mr Timms’ knee.’

‘Really,’ said Sybil, and Lily could instantly tell from her voice that the other woman knew exactly what had been going on. It was so subtle, but it was there, and Lily felt the stain of embarrassment on her face.

Now, Sybil linked one arm with Lily, and held the other out for Jamie to take.

‘I’m longing to dance,’ she said in a confiding voice. ‘You’ll love The 400, Lily, it’s such fun. She’s never been before, Jamie. Imagine that? Jamie and Philip almost lived there once upon a time, didn’t you, darling?’

They were at the back stairs now, and Sybil briskly let go of Lily’s arm in order to walk up with Jamie because there wasn’t room for three of them together.

Lily felt a sense of unease at Sybil’s bright, acid tone.

‘Some people prefer the Florida or the dear old Café de Paris, but I just adore The 400,’ Sybil went on, in a falsely wistful voice. ‘What about Miranda?’ Sybil enquired. ‘Which club is her favourite?’

Lily’s unease grew. Jamie wasn’t saying anything; he was walking beside Sybil as stiffly as if he was at a funeral.

‘Miranda is Jamie’s wife, Lily. She’s such a darling, we all love her. Such a pity she’s stuck in Scotland, isn’t it?’

Lily felt herself falter on the steps and Jamie looked back at her, reaching out an arm, but she drew back from him sharply.

Jamie was married. He wasn’t free to make love to her, he was betraying his wife and he’d just betrayed her.

Bile rose in Lily’s throat. Irrespective of how it looked or how Sybil would gloat, she had to get away from him.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘back in a moment –’

She turned and fled downstairs to the cloakroom, slammed the door behind her and sank on to dusty parquet flooring beside an old, cracked lavatory. There was no relief when she’d been sick: the nausea was still there. She felt so confused and empty. A lightning bolt had hit her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, and now, it had been whipped away just as quickly. Except now she knew what it was like to feel that volcano of emotion, and once she’d felt that way, she couldn’t un-feel it.

Her body still tingled with the rasp of his mouth on it, and yet here she was, crouched on the cloakroom floor, alone and feeling used. She wanted to die. No; she wanted him to die. She wanted him to suffer the way she was suffering.

He was there when she came out a few minutes later. She’d been sure he’d be too much of a coward to wait for her, yet there he was: tall and concerned, not looking like the cheater he was.

‘Lily, please let me explain –’

‘Don’t touch me!’ she hissed at him, spitting fire.

‘I wanted to tell you –’

‘Keep away. I never want to see you again as long as I live.’