Beyond Temptation Read online

  Beyond Temptation

  Lisette Ashton

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  More about Mischief

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Robyn glanced across the table and decided she had to fuck him.

  The thought sent a pulse through her loins and her breathing deepened. She could feel her cheeks redden and knew her dark-blue eyes were shining purposefully. After sliding off one shoe, she stretched her toes against the confines of her stocking. Beneath the table, she deliberately edged her foot towards him.

  The dinner party was going surprisingly well, she thought. Its success was made remarkable by the fact that neither she nor her husband was milling around the guests and pampering egos. Robyn sat at the bottom end of the table, close enough to play footsie with Dominic and discreetly distant from the rest of the crowd. Her husband, Harold, was at the head of the table, lost in conversation with his secretary Sheridan. The delicate strains of Telemann’s Tafelmusik filled the air, adding to the baroque ambience of the evening.

  Considering the weighty nature of the conversations she had engaged in earlier this evening, it shouldn’t have been a night for eroticism. Robyn felt sure that no one else in the room was thinking about sex, and that thought added fuel to her excitement. It made her feel daring and special and bold and unconventional. All of those moods enhanced her growing arousal.

  As soon as her toes touched him, Dominic glanced up.

  He gave her a curious smile. The fringe of his tousled blond hair dangled awkwardly over his cool grey eyes. Like every other man in the room, he wore full evening dress. The night had begun only an hour earlier but already Dominic had loosened his bow tie and popped the button on his shirt collar. The casual destruction of his well-groomed image gave him a distinctive appearance that set him apart from the other male guests.

  Robyn’s desire for him turned into a desperate craving. It reminded her of the long month she had suffered when she quit smoking. A pulse throbbed between her legs, a rhythmic beat that increased her need with each quickening moment. When she caught sight of his playful grin she had to amend her thoughts. She didn’t just want Dominic: she needed him.

  She cast a glance in Harold’s direction, checking that her foot-play had gone unnoticed. It was something of a relief to realise Harold hadn’t seen the exchange. But she should have known he would be oblivious to her. As was usual nowadays, he was engrossed in his conversation with Sheridan.

  The secretary sat on Harold’s right-hand side as he regaled her with some lengthy anecdote that Robyn couldn’t hear. Her blonde hair was streaked with shots of pale blue and red, and the coloured locks bounced lazily up and down as she nodded her feigned interest in Harold’s monologue.

  Robyn had no idea why Sheridan coloured her hair in such a way. With a touch of bitter jealousy, she suspected that it was the woman’s sad attempt to hold on to the last years of her youth before she struck the ripe old age of twenty-four. Not that Harold would have been paying any attention to Sheridan’s hair, Robyn noted cynically. The woman’s breasts weren’t overly large but – with her low-cut top and the benefits of a Wonderbra – she was displaying more cleavage than Robyn revealed in the shower. Harold’s gaze was fixed appreciatively on this sight. His smile was broad and lascivious.

  Robyn didn’t mind his fascination with the secretary. She and Harold had each been pursuing their own interests since the start of their marriage and she knew they were both beyond jealousy. Admittedly, she didn’t care for Sheridan but she knew that in the past she had enjoyed the attention of lovers that Harold actively disliked.

  The adage about two wrongs not making a right flitted through her mind. She cast the thought away with a frown, sure it wasn’t that particular issue that troubled her. Harold could screw whomever he desired, just as Robyn was free to enjoy the same privileges. It had been an unspoken rule of their relationship since the day they first met. She simply wished Harold would show a little more discretion with his latest flirtation, especially in front of their dinner guests.

  Mentally dismissing her husband and his secretary she turned her smile back on Dominic.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ Dominic said, leaning over the table.

  Robyn glanced around the dining hall, a weary expression on her face, taking in the ornate chandelier, the oak-panelled walls and the framed oils. Heavy curtains fell from the dining room’s high ceiling to the floor. The silverware sparkled with a freshly polished lustre.

  ‘It keeps the cold out.’

  ‘Is that you?’ he asked, nodding at one particular painting.

  Robyn smiled at the canvas. ‘Harold doesn’t like that one,’ she explained. ‘He seems to think it’s too exhibitionist to have my half-naked body displayed in front of our dinner guests.’

  Dominic seemed to be considering her remark as he studied the painting. There was a playful smile on his lips.

  ‘I think it’s only right that you display your half-naked body to your dinner guests,’ he began. ‘I don’t think you realise how much some of them appreciate things like that.’

  She smiled indulgently.

  Beneath the table, she allowed her stocking-clad toes to brush beneath the cuff of his trousers. Her efforts were rewarded by the widening of his grin but he kept his gaze fixed on the painting as he spoke.

  ‘Is that one of Yale’s?’ he asked. ‘It seems to have the flair and the command of artistry I’d associate with Yale’s work – the depth and the bold, sensual strokes.’

  ‘Yale?’ Robyn frowned. The question made no sense and she wondered what had prompted it. ‘Yale, the American university?’

  He shook his head. His patronising smile inched wider. The condescending glint in his eyes came close to quelling her need for him.

  ‘Yale Walters, the painter,’ he explained with infuriating patience. ‘I thought you would have heard of him, what with the column you write for Art.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. Never heard of him.’

  Not particularly caring about the conversation, she edged her foot higher, rubbing purposefully up his leg. The electric frisson of silk against his trousers sent a thrill shivering to the top of her thigh. With a salacious smile, she moved her toes closer to the growing bulge in his lap.

  Dominic drew a startled breath.

  As she watched, he glanced at the rest of the diners, confirming that what he was doing with Robyn remained unobserved. She liked that he was showing enough courtesy to value discretion. That would make things easier.

  ‘Who is this Yale?’ she asked.

  Robyn still had no interest in the topic. The idea of discussing an unknown artist came close to spoiling her mood. But she carried on anyway.

  If any of her guests had seen her smiling inanely at Dominic they might have suspected something. Past experience of publicly dallying with lovers had taught her to be circumspect. The pretence of a conversation made for the ideal cover while her foot rubbed at him. She knew that the only person who might be within earshot was her PA, Gayle, sitting in the chair to Robyn’s right. And, while she trusted the woman, and knew Gayle was beyond gossip and tittle-tattle, Robyn was still careful.

  ‘I went to university with Yale, a couple of years ago,’ Dominic explained. ‘But I saw him again just recently. He’s developing quite a reputation for his work. I’d hoped your husband could do a feature
on Yale’s paintings in a forthcoming issue of Art. Yale’s an excellent artist in the tradition of Lichtenstein and Ramos but most of the critics are saying he conveys a more palpable air of realism. Part of the reason I wangled myself an invitation here tonight was so that I could make you aware of him. He’s too good not to get the exposure that your column could give him.’

  He’s a bloody agent, Robyn thought scornfully. She tried not to let this revelation kill her mood. With a determined effort she concentrated on Dominic as a potential conquest rather than a prospective vulture.

  ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Harold yet?’ she asked, maintaining the charade of a conversation.

  Dominic shook his head. ‘Perhaps you could arrange an introduction?’

  ‘Perhaps I could take you somewhere else instead?’ With forced meaning, she added, ‘Perhaps I could take you somewhere away from my husband? Personally, I think that would be more satisfying.’

  Dominic looked momentarily torn. Robyn decided she liked seeing him wear that expression.

  ‘I’d like you to take me somewhere away from your husband,’ he admitted. ‘I’d like that very much. But I did promise Yale I’d mention his name.’

  Robyn shrugged, growing impatient. The pulse between her thighs was beating with an insistent desire that was not being hastened by Dominic’s insistence on trying to promote an unknown artist.

  ‘You’ve mentioned his name,’ she said sharply. ‘I’ll keep an eye open in case I get the chance to see one of his exhibitions. If I do, I’ll review him.’

  ‘That’s very generous. I’m grateful.’

  ‘Perhaps we can find a way for you to show your gratitude.’

  As she spoke, she pushed her foot firmly against him. Her toes had begun to touch the swell at the front of his pants and she traced the urgent thrust of his arousal. The discovery of his size and eagerness added to her growing excitement.

  With the combined distractions, and the promise of further intimacy to come, she began to feel more kindly disposed towards holding a conversation about artists and their work. She was an art critic by profession and this was her forte. She felt more than able to carry her side of the conversation without having to think about it. She was able to speak whilst her body engaged with more physical pleasures.

  ‘What’s his medium?’ she asked, working her heel against the base of Dominic’s erection. As she delivered the question, Robyn reached for a breadstick from a glass in the centre of the table. Toying with it, the tip resting upon her lower lip, she grinned at him.

  Struggling to maintain his composure, Dominic shook his head. His cheeks flushed. He swallowed thickly.

  ‘Acrylics. He does erotic studies in acrylics. I believe he occasionally uses watercolours, gouache and some oils …’

  ‘How versatile,’ Robyn broke in. She rolled the tip of the breadstick on her lip, her gaze fixed on him as she spoke. Her eyes, normally the colour of a warm summer sky, shone like sapphires.

  Dominic swallowed again and cast a glance at the rest of the diners before continuing: ‘… but he prefers to keep his artwork to acrylics. He says there’s something sensuous about the use of such a viscous medium.’

  Robyn continued to toy with the breadstick. Daringly, she teased the tip of her tongue against the rounded end. Then she studied Dominic with heavy-lidded eyes as she pushed it slowly into her mouth. She was rewarded by Dominic’s deepening blush.

  ‘I really do think I should have a look at some of this Yale’s work.’

  He nodded, seeming pleased by her apparent interest. ‘He rates you very highly as a critic. He says that you appraise work, rather than trying to pad out your column with viperous criticism and astringent soundbites.’

  Robyn frowned. Again she felt close to forgetting her need for Dominic. He was a pretty boy, but he had some irritating ways.

  ‘You’ve been discussing me?’

  Dominic’s easy smile was an obvious attempt to placate her.

  ‘He’s an artist and he regularly reads your column. We’ve talked about most of the critics. But yours is the only name that doesn’t make him kick his easel or spatter paint on his studio wall.’

  Robyn said nothing, silently encouraging Dominic to continue.

  ‘When he heard there was an invite for this party floating around, he insisted I come and mention his work.’ Dominic gave her a pleasant smile. ‘He was particularly insistent that I should try and seek you out so I could make you aware of his existence.’

  With her suspicions mostly assuaged, Robyn nodded. She pressed her foot against his hard swell and treated him to a reassuring grin. ‘Then you’ve mentioned his name,’ she allowed. ‘You’ve made me aware of his existence. And, as I said, if I ever get the chance to criticise his work I’ll try and do it fairly.’

  ‘I’m sure that will make him happy.’

  Dominic was trying to look unaffected as she rolled her foot over the raging thrust of his erection. Robyn took a sadistic pleasure from the fact that he didn’t quite manage the expression.

  ‘That’s good,’ she purred. ‘I enjoy making people happy.’

  ‘Me too,’ Dominic whispered. ‘Perhaps we could do something together where we try to make each other happy?’

  She could hear the lewd intent in his words. The warm wetness between her legs caused a tremor of anticipation. Once again discretion was at the forefront of her mind and she glanced warily in Harold’s direction.

  His hand was on Sheridan’s arm and the pair were engrossed with each other. Robyn could see the light in her husband’s eyes and found she could read the expression effortlessly. Harold was excited by the woman with the multicoloured hair and he would do anything to have her.

  For a moment, Robyn was saddened by the thought, realising it had been a long time since Harold had looked at her that way. She dismissed the threatening wave of melancholy and turned to her right.

  Tapping Gayle discreetly on the shoulder, she said, ‘Dominic’s going to need directions to the little boys’ room in a moment. I trust you’ll point him the right way.’ She winked as she said the words, making sure that her unspoken meaning was understood.

  Gayle glanced from Dominic to Robyn. When Gayle brushed the dark hair from her eyes Robyn noticed a frown creasing her PA’s forehead.

  ‘I thought you said Harold had been in a funny mood lately?’

  Robyn shrugged. She tried to look indifferent but she did not like Gayle questioning her motives. She particularly didn’t like that Gayle was able to broach such a delicate subject.

  ‘Perhaps that’s why I’m thinking of spending some time with Dominic,’ Robyn suggested haughtily. ‘Dominic is not in a funny mood.’

  ‘You’re playing a dangerous game,’ Gayle said. Her dark eyes flashed with some unspoken warning that Robyn chose to ignore.

  ‘Perhaps I am playing a dangerous game,’ Robyn agreed. ‘But dangerous games are the most fun, aren’t they?’

  Without waiting for a reply she slid her foot away from Dominic, eased it back into her shoe, and gracefully left the room.

  * * *

  As soon as she saw Robyn disappear through the door, Sheridan frowned and placed a hand on Harold’s arm to interrupt him.

  ‘Where’s your wife this evening?’

  Harold glanced towards the foot of the table then scowled over the busy guests. His frown deepened.

  ‘She must have slipped out for a moment.’

  The granite in his voice told her that he didn’t believe such a casual explanation. The sullen line of his jaw showed that he wouldn’t let the matter rest there.

  Smiling at her own manipulative skills, Sheridan shook her head. The multicoloured streaks in her hair bounced gaily, enticing his attention back to her.

  ‘No matter,’ she assured him. ‘I’m sure she’ll be back in a moment. Now, you were telling me about this Scottish manor house you own …’

  As he began to respond, Sheridan listened with an uninterested ear. She knew e
nough about Harold’s Scottish manor house already. She thought it was likely that she knew more about the building than Harold did. Trying to find something of interest to focus on while Harold continued to talk, she glanced around the room and studied the other guests.

  She saw Gayle talking to Dominic. There was a sombre expression on the PA’s face as she spoke. Sheridan watched Gayle lead Dominic to the dining room door, where she spoke briskly to him before returning to her seat.

  Dominic left the dining hall surreptitiously, and Sheridan knew she was the only one who had seen him go in the same direction as Robyn.

  Idly, she wondered how she could convey this information to Harold without giving the impression that she was telling tales and trying to create a divide between him and Robyn.

  * * *

  Robyn stood at the top of the stairs.

  She stared down at Dominic with a predatory smile. Her body rocked slightly to the distant pulse of the Tafelmusik. The gentle movement caused the hem of her dress to sway lightly to and fro. It was a contrived position and she used it to maximum effect. As Dominic climbed the staircase she knew he would be able to see beneath the hem. The gusset of her black panties was bound to be visible to him as he stared up at her.

  She smiled, excited by her own boldness.

  When she saw the anticipatory light flicker in his eyes, she knew his gaze had been caught by her display. His pace up the steps didn’t quicken or slow but she noticed his gait now appeared ever so slightly awkward. Her smile broadened as she realised this was caused by the growing stiffness at the top of his leg.

  He finally snatched his gaze away from the hem of her skirt when he was within two steps of her. Robyn stayed in the same position, allowing him to move closer. The scent of his aftershave caught in her nostrils and she inhaled his nearness.