The sands were resilient and soft as velvet between her toes, and as she licked pickle juice from her fingers Julia wished that time could stand still and the peace she felt could be suspended. She didn't want to think about the future and its problems; right now she wanted to pretend she was a teenager once again, sheltered and protected by her grandmother. How innocent and romantic she had been; she had truly believed that love could be as beautiful as the theme for Tristan and Isolde… as the words that Romeo spoke to Juliet when she leaned from her balcony.
Julia lay on her rug, her slim legs stretched out so her feet were in the sand. Her senses were lulled by the sea sounds; a sensuous drowsiness was seeping, through her body and the beach was hers, a great soft bed that cradled her and soothed her off to sleep. Her bright tousled hair lay spilled across the rug, her cheek rested on a curved arm, and the hem of her tunic revealed the slim honey smoothness of her legs. She looked vulnerable, lost in her dreams, unaware of the birds that came pecking the crumbs from her lonely lunch. The sea moved in its ceaseless motion, splashing the rocks and crooning to itself. Overhead the sky was cerulean shot with the gold of the sun, stroking warm across Julia's feet and winking in the green gem on her outflung left hand. Her fingers were partly buried in the sand, as if from the weight of the rings, the wide gold band that glistened richly, and the emerald which she had removed once or twice and been firmly told to replace.
A bird fluttered as in sleep Julia shifted her position as if to ease her own weight on the centre of her body. Then she settled into stillness again, and now her left hand lay against her body, lustrous green lights shifting in the emerald to the rise and fall of her breathing.
The air was filled with the tang of sea-wrack and ozone when she awoke, bemused and still half-dreaming. The sun was starting to go down and the sky was beautiful, unearthly, but all Julia was aware of was the male figure lounging on the sand above her reclining one. A cabana jacket lay unbuttoned against the brown firmness of his chest, open to the belt of his trousers.
A whiplash of fear curled through Julia's blood. Nerves fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
'W-what are you doing here?' The shafting sunset seemed to drain colour from her skin.
'My dear wife, you say the most amusing things.' His lips twisted into a smile and he touched her face before she could evade him. 'You have such poignant cheekbones and I can see the sunset in your eyes.'
Julia gazed up at him with the dilated eyes of her surprise at seeing him. 'When did you get back?'
'About an hour ago. I had a bite to eat, then I thought I'd come and say hullo to you.' His eyes slid down her figure. 'You were sleeping like a baby, so I waited until you awoke naturally. I've missed you, cara mia.'
'Really?' Julia felt herself go tense. 'I can't imagine that you went without feminine company while you were a whole week in Naples. It would go against the grain where you're concerned.'
'Would it?' He stroked a strand of hair behind her ear, where his fingers lingered, their tips against her earlobe. 'That goes to show how little you really know me.'
'I know you!' His touch was disturbing even though it was featherlight, but she wouldn't pull away from him in case he resorted to a more definite kind of caress. 'Even while you were away a woman was writing to you, no doubt a love letter as it was written on scented mauve paper. They can't leave you alone, can they?'
He smiled down at her, his teeth glimmering against his dark skin. 'Does it worry you, mia? Don't you like it that other women write to me, on scented mauve paper?'
'I couldn't care less!'
'Then why mention the subject?'
'For what it's worth, Rome, I am married to you and entitled to object to your innamoratas sending letters to the house I have to share with you. Couldn't she have written to the casino? Isn't that where you conduct your liaisons?'
'Take care, Julia.' He leaned closer, powerful and warm there in the flaming duskiness that was creeping over the beach. 'I came home in a congenial mood, hoping I might find that a week without my company had made you miss me. Haven't you missed me, even if only to fight with?'
'Why should I?' She defied his gaze, but couldn't ignore the looming strength of his shoulders. 'I—I told you before you left that I wish you'd stay away. Did you imagine I was being—provocative?'
'You're being very provocative right now, my dear.' And once again his eyes roved over her in the rumpled tunic… her only covering. 'Santo Dio, how fetching you look, half child and yet me woman who makes me a lovely child within that soft white body.'
A husky sensuality had come into his voice, and as the sunset burned out of the sky it seemed to leave its afterglow in Rome's eyes. 'I've got you now, haven't I, mia?'
'What do you mean?' Close like this to him Julia felt the vitality and power in his body, and she was made acutely aware of how alone they were in the gathering dusk of the beach.
'You aren't that innocent, my dear.' His lips were edged by a faintly mocking smile. 'I've been away for a week and I'd like you to welcome me home with a little more warmth.'
Julia debated with herself… perhaps if she kissed him, he would then allow her to dress and they would leave the intimacy of the beach and return to the villa. She raised her face to his and could feel him watching her through half-lowered lashes. His strong arms slid around her and he drew her close to him, tucking her in against his chest, the hard hook of his legs enclosing hers, holding her imprisoned without hurting her. His mouth came down against hers. 'Kiss me, Julia,' he murmured.
She allowed her lips to touch the bold curve of his mouth.
'I shan't bite you, little fool. Put a bit more feeling into it!'
She felt the hammering of her heart in her rib-cage, and fighting a nervous urge to resist him she pressed her lips to his. 'There, are you satisfied?'
'No, I'm not.' He put his lips to the throb of a vein in her neck and her breath quickened as she felt the stirring desire in his body.
'Rome—please—'
'I like it when you plead with me.'
'I—let me up!'
'Not yet, my sweet.' He leaned down until his face touched hers and his lips vibrated against her skin as he whispered something. Instantly she tried to struggle out of his arms, but they refused to release her and her movements only caused her tunic to ride up and reveal a little more of her bareness. She realised that if Rome was aroused she had only herself to blame for not being completely dressed, and even as she caught at his hair in an attempt to pull him away from her, she felt the tunic come open and his lips were against the curve of her breast. 'Santo Dio,' he said huskily, 'I must have you, Julia. You can yell at the pitch of your lungs but no one will take any notice. I've given orders we aren't to be disturbed—do you hear me?'
'Don't hurt me—' She said it pleadingly.
'Hurt you?' His hand moved on her body and she gasped, but not with pain. 'Have I ever hurt you? You know the answer even if you won't admit it—ah, mia, you smell of the sea and you feel like satin—sweet satin doll, let me—'
His words died to incoherency, passion was released in him and there was no restraining it—it swept over both of them, and distant yet close Julia heard the sea as it came and went in the groin of rock.
Rome sat up staring at the sea, his hair black and tousled on his brow. He reached to his cabana jacket and drew his cigar-case from the pocket, along with his lighter. Julia lay and watched him as he lit a cigar and slowly released the rich smoke from his nostrils. His profile against the starlight was firm and bold, and his shoulders glistened, strong and supple, sloping down to a narrow waist and hips.
'A woman is like the sea,' he murmured. 'Not really conquerable, and just as unpredictable, with a mystery to her that a man never really discovers.'
'Does it provoke you, Rome, even though you're strong enough to make a woman do as you want?'
'Didn't you want it?' he asked moodily. 'At least you didn't plough my back with your fingernails, like the last t
ime.'
Her gaze moved up and down his back and she remembered the smooth rippling of his skin over the muscles, the strange disinclination to claw at him. But it hadn't been like the last time. There had been no overriding urge to humble her… he had held he in a different way… there had been a tenderness in him, as if all the time he was thinking of the baby. Her fingers played absently with the sand. She was having his baby and he had wanted her because of that… wanted the feel and touch and pleasure of the woman he had made pregnant. His fingers had traced the enriched curve of her breast and his lips had moved back and forth across their tender tips.
Julia tensed as within her a tiny foot seemed to kick her. 'Rome—' She bit her lip, and then knew she had to say the words. 'Give me your hand, Rome. The baby's moving!'
He sat there very still, and then he turned and she took his hand and guided it across her stomach to her side. She pressed his hand to her and a moment later felt the tremor that passed through him as the mysterious movement of his child was transmitted to him.
'Amorevolezza—' He stared down at Julia as the little movements died to stillness. 'Does it hurt you?'
She smiled a little and shook her head. 'It startles me when it happens, but there isn't any pain. Now you know exactly what you've done to me, don't you, signore?'
He went on looking down at her, the black hair on his forehead, a brilliance to his grey eyes that defeated the darkness.
'Men don't really realise it, do they?' she said. 'Only women know there's more to it than—'
'Than what?' he murmured, when she hesitated.
'Pleasure.' She wanted to look away, but his eyes wouldn't let her.
'You were pleasured, amata?'
'Not—not when this happened.'
'But tonight?'
'Tonight—you were kinder.' She touched herself. 'Because I'm like this.'
'You like me when I'm kind, eh?'
'I'm only human, Rome.'
'Yes, by God.' He sighed deeply and his eyes went up and down her body in the tunic he had buttoned, unevenly. 'Come, we had best be getting home. The air is cooling down and I don't want you to catch a chill.'
'Because of the baby? I never imagined that your type of man could want fatherhood quite so much. Why, Rome? To spoil him and make up for what you didn't have yourself?'
'Why not?' He shrugged and drew her to her feet. She came only to his shoulder, and she felt the knowingness in her skin when his arm slid around her and he pressed the swell of her to him. 'Will you object if I make a fuss of my child?'
'I shan't be here to object,' she said quietly.
He said nothing in reply, his hand a firm pressure against her spine, until abruptly he let her go. She felt a coolness blowing up the beach on to her skin and turning away from him Julia found her skirt and stepped into it. She had expected anger but not acquiescence, and she closed the zip of her skirt with fingers that shook a little. Did she want him to argue the point just because she had lain in his arms so intimately? She knew that his main desire was centred in the child, and that for him this hour on the beach had been incidental to that desire. She supposed she was just being a woman, to whom a sensual experience had to have more meaning than a gratification of the body.
She glanced at Rome as he casually donned his jacket, the remainder of his cigar clenched in his teeth. It already seemed to her that their physical closeness had left no real impression on him, especially when he said: 'The sea air arouses the appetite. I had only a snack on my arrival home, now I'm ready for a hearty dinner. You must be hungry yourself, mia.'
'Not really,' she replied, shaking the sand grains from the rug and folding it. 'I had a good lunch.'
'But that was hours ago.' He took the rug and picked up the picnic basket. 'You'll be ready for your dinner once you've had a shower and changed into a pretty dress. Come, let's make tracks.'
They walked across the sands to the steps and they were halfway up when Julia had to pause to catch her breath. 'I have a stitch—it's all right, Rome. You have to remember that I'm carrying quite a little load inside me.'
'You shouldn't really use the beach when you have to climb up and down these steps—if anything happened—'
'Don't worry, Rome.' Her voice took a slight edge. 'I take very good care of your son and heir and do everything the obstetrician advises. He assures me that I'm carrying a very healthy and active baby. You felt that for yourself, didn't you?'
Rome's eyes flashed over her, for as always when she stood in conjunction to him, his tall strong figure made her look fragile by comparison. 'Shall I carry you the rest of the way?'
'Of course not.' She started to climb again. 'I wouldn't want you to disable yourself. It would make your trips to Naples less entertaining for you.'
She heard him mutter an Italian cussword. 'Don't make insinuations you can't prove, Julia.'
She didn't reply, but when they reached the villa and were halfway across the hall she gestured at the table where several letters awaited his attention. 'Try the one in the mauve envelope,' she suggested.
He gave her a raking look, then strode to the table, dropped rug and basket to the floor and sorted among the letters for the mauve one. He glanced at the postmark before ripping open the envelope and taking out the folded sheets of notepaper. Julia watched as he skimmed the first few lines, then as he gave a soft laugh she made for the stairs and found as she mounted them that her legs were trembling. She felt a kind of fury… as much with herself as with him. The soles of her feet inside her raffia sandals were gritty with sand, and she could hardly endure the mental image of herself in Rome's arms on the beach, her toes curling into the sand as the waves of sensual response lifted her on their crest, where she clung to rippling warm shoulders and was carried through troughs of unimaginable sensation.
Now she hated it for happening… hated him who had made it happen. He was a master at it. Other women couldn't leave him alone once they'd been in his arms.
Julia flung herself on the bed and gripped the cover as if to tear it to ribbons. She'd make him suffer for laughing in front of her at the amorous words contained in another woman's letter!
'Had a good day, lovey?' Lucie had entered the room, carrying over her arm a flowered silk-chiffon dress she had altered for Julia; one of her New York dresses she was exceptionally fond of. Julia turned on her back and thought of the last time she had worn the dress. It had been at a cocktail party with Paul and he had said she looked flower-like, so cool and contained and not to be plucked by a careless hand.
'Did Mr Rome join you on the beach?' Lucie added.
Julia winced at the stabbing significance the words had for her. 'Yes,' she said, trying to thrust away those images whose torment was extra subtle because Rome shared them. She had responded to him, caressed him and sighed his name. He had made her react like other women who sought his arms in the velvety dusk of an Italian night.
'It must have come as a nice surprise.' Lucie gave her a careful look and Julia felt her skin grow heated, as if it showed that she had been in Rome's arms.
'It certainly came as a surprise.' Julia slid from the bed and combed her fingers through her hair. 'I'm all over sand and I need a shower. The signore is downstairs right now reading his letters, so I expect he'll be off again on another of his trips.'
'But he's only just got back.' Lucie stroked absently the silky fabric of the dress she held. 'Are you still at odds with him, Miss Julia? It could be that he has to get away from.'
'I daresay it helps,' said Julia, prodded to anger by the soft, affectionate way he had laughed as he read the letter from Spain. 'But you can't be so naive, Lucie, that you don't know what really takes him to Naples—or wherever? Amore is second nature with men like Rome.'
'Aren't you at fault, miss, if you don't give him your love?'
'My love?' Julia gave a scornful toss of her head. 'You're letting your romantic imagination run away with you, Lucie. All he wants from me is this darned baby he forced on
me—yes, forced! You flinch at the word, but you'd like even less the exact term for what Signor Demario accomplished at his casino in Naples. Had Grandma been alive she'd have made him pay for it!'
'Are you making him pay, Miss Julia?'
'I'm the one that's paying the piper!' Julia's green eyes flashed. 'Look at me—halfway up those beach steps I had to stop for breath like some obese senior citizen! I'm not like this because of love, Lucie. I'm like this because of—'
'Don't use that nasty word, miss.' Lucie laid the flowered dress across the bed stool and came to Julia. 'Come and have a nice bath and I'll loofah your back for you and wash your hair with avocado shampoo.'
'Don't try and soothe me as if I'm a child—' Julia broke off with a shaky sigh. 'I'm being a bit of a shrew, aren't I?'
'It isn't like you, lovey. You used to have a sweet nature.'
'That was before I grew up and found out that people can be cruel. I think Grandma was too sheltering of Verna and me. She should have allowed us to see how the children grew up in the back streets of New York, in those brown-stone tenements. Maybe I'd be harder—like Rome.'
'Mr Rome isn't so hard, miss.'
'Lucie, you try my patience! I know him better than you, the way he can turn on the Latin ardour and make a woman believe she's the only one in all the world who matters to him. It's a fine art with his type—hot-natured, handsome, and about as capable of being faithful as a cigale in the corn. I've just had the pleasure of seeing him enjoy the contents of a letter from one of his innamoratas. A Spanish one, educated and rich from the look of her handwriting and the aroma of her perfume. I expect she sprayed it on the envelope to remind him of the last time they made love!'
'Miss Julia,' Lucie looked really shocked, 'how can you even think such a thing?'
'Easily. While reading the letter he laughed like a man with memories.' Julia turned and hastened into the bathroom. She wanted the shower pounding her skin, numbing her nerve ends, removing the feel of his lips and the touch of his hands. She flung off her clothes and stepped into the shower stall, taking with her a sponge and a large bar of Pears soap. She soaped and sponged all over, but there was one place she couldn't reach, and that was her mind.
Desire Has No Mercy Page 13