by Donald Robyn
And he got out of the hammock in a swift, lithe movement and strode out of sight. Dreamily Rosa basked in the dappled shade of the tree, letting herself enjoy the sensuous aftermath of his closeness, the urgent hunger for what was to happen. She pushed away any intrusive thought of caution or prudence, of the future—of anything but incandescent joy at the prospect of belonging to Max.
Although he made no sound when he came back, some atavistic instinct warned her of his approach; she opened her eyes to see him walk around the corner of the jasmine-laden wall that formed an almost enclosed courtyard around the jacaranda.
‘That didn’t take long,’ Rosa said huskily. ‘Were there any bugs in the villa?’
He smiled at her and lowered himself beside her, and this time there was no space between them. ‘He hasn’t finished yet, but don’t worry, he won’t be coming to report.’
Her flash of embarrassment faded under Max’s kisses, gentle to begin with and then more demanding until her mouth moulded to his and she kissed him back, her inexperience no match for his potent sexuality. She hoped her love would be enough…
Feverish anticipation swirled through her like some powerful drug, banishing her last reservation, the unwanted voice of caution that warned her this might not be the most sensible thing to be doing.
She simply didn’t care. The world could crash around them tomorrow, but she would have today. Daringly she lifted her hands to his head and slid her fingers into his hair, warm silk against her skin.
Against her lips he said with harsh recklessness, ‘You have no idea how often I’ve wanted this—like craving for water in the desert, yet knowing that I’d never find it. Somehow, in spite of everything, you found your way to my life that summer and lodged there like a burr.’
She sighed, her narrowed eyes gleaming. ‘I wish I’d known. I used to chastise myself for being so stupid. But when I dreamed I dreamed of you, and no other man has ever made me feel the way a smile from you does.’
‘Rosa,’ he said with a kind of fierce tenderness, ‘that’s a hell of a responsibility. No other man?’
Her mouth clung to his for a moment. ‘No other man.’
‘I hope I can make it good for you.’
Amazed, she lifted her lashes. When she met the crystalline intensity of his gaze she almost quailed. Her dreams had been romantic fantasies; this was Max, the man she loved, earthy and direct, a man who’d intimately known some of the most beautiful women in the world. What did she have to offer him, with her untried body, her unpractised caresses?
‘I think that’s my line,’ she said, her smile lopsided. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, but you do.’
‘And I find that unbearably stimulating,’ he said, lips straightening in self-derision. ‘But if you want to call a halt, if you find anything distasteful, tell me.’
Rosa almost laughed. She held his face with her hands, relishing the faint abrasion of his beard against her sensitive palms, and met his eyes with open frankness. ‘Nothing you could do would upset me.’
He touched her mouth with his, then kissed her all the way down her throat to the pulse that throbbed in the defenceless hollow there. Rosa stifled a hungry moan when he found the soft lobe of one ear and bit it gently. Sharp delight pierced her from her skin to her innermost being, gathering in a molten pit at the base of her stomach.
She gasped, and he laughed, then kissed the spot underneath her ear before moving on to the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulders. Again he used his teeth to send more of those delicious little darts of pleasure through her.
Sighing, she returned the delicate caress, biting his shoulder before licking the spot with languorous care, inhaling his personal scent and savouring the mixture of salt and musk and compelling masculinity that was Max.
He made an odd sound, halfway between a groan and an exclamation, and turned his head so that his mouth found the pointed, pleading tip of her breast. Ignoring the thin cotton of her bra top, he drew the nipple in.
She’d found his previous caresses enormously exciting and intoxicating, but this was outrageously erotic, each strong movement of his lips sending violently carnal messages to her loins, to every inch of her skin—and to her brain, which promptly gave up any attempt at logic under the sensual overload.
She shuddered with passionate desire, then, terrified that he might think she disliked it, whispered, ‘Don’t stop.’
He lifted his head and smiled down into her dazzled face, his eyes smouldering in his dark, compelling features.
‘I won’t,’ he assured her, and to prove it flicked open the bikini top, dragging in a sharp breath as he displayed her body, skin glowing and golden against his darker olive tan.
Consumed by a wild compulsion to arch her back and hips against his lean body, Rosa surrendered to it. His arms whipped around her; he was steel clad in velvet, taut and tight-muscled. For several seconds they locked gazes—hers frantic with the need clamouring through her, his hard and blazing.
He said on a harsh note of passion, ‘You dazzle me,’ and transferred his attention to the other breast.
It was heaven; it was hugely frustrating. She writhed as he summoned a reckless anticipation that built and built under his touch.
Max said gutturally, ‘You are utterly beautiful, my sweet one.’ He eased her onto her back and kissed the narrow indentation of her waist and her curved hips, his mouth warm and seeking against her sensitised skin.
The hammock swayed, its shifting movements adding another dimension to her heady arousal.
Lips against her flat stomach, he continued, ‘You have the eyes and mouth of a houri, with the fresh innocence of youth. You’ll never lose that bone-deep frankness. Raised up.’
Obediently she raised her hips, and he showed his experience by ridding her body of its last remaining covering with speed and expertise.
Swamped by a feeling of intense vulnerability at being exposed, Rosa clamped her eyes shut and froze.
There was no humour in his voice when he said softly, ‘Lift up your lashes, dearest Rosa. Let me see you.’
Heat burned her skin as she sneaked a look at him. The angular lines of his face were more pronounced, his formidable control barely leashed. She’d expected to see him scrutinising her body with lust, but he was watching her face, and although she sensed the dark, consuming hunger in him, she saw tenderness and understanding there too.
‘Don’t hide from me,’ he said, and kissed the corner of her mouth before swinging off the hammock.
Her eyes widened as he stripped. He was magnificent, she thought, a sudden pulse of desire shaking her free of her virginal fear. By now her eyes were fully accustomed to the shade in the arbour; spell-bound, her gaze slid compulsively over him, registering the elemental beauty of male grace and power and authority.
He would know what to do. She pushed aside the thought of how he’d acquired that knowledge, and swallowed when he donned protection. It didn’t seem possible…
But of course it would be. The last qualm vanished in a sensation of complete rightness, of inevitability. Max would make it perfect.
Uncontrollable heat fired every inch of her skin when he turned, and again she didn’t dare look when the hammock swayed. Breath locked in her throat, heart thundering in her ears, she waited for his touch.
It came with the sensuous, silken glide of skin over skin as he settled himself against her. ‘Sweet Rosa,’ he said deeply, easing his arm beneath her. ‘Sweet as your name, with a dark, rich bloom that reminds me of the very best Bordeaux…’
Her laugh was fragile. ‘Trust you to think of wine.’
He kissed her temple. ‘When I look at you I think of rubies and wine and roses, of the subtle perfume of your skin, the quiet richness of your laughter, the dark promise you don’t even know lives in your eyes.’
Enchanted, she relaxed, and he kissed her, softly then more fiercely, summoning a desperate need that coiled through her like liquid fire, banishing the last of her i
nhibitions. She opened her mouth to him, and sighed, and her body arched with involuntary demand.
‘So let me see you, my precious one,’ he said against her mouth.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked down the lengths of their bodies, her blush forgotten in the sensual magnificence of Max, her lover. Sunlight through the leaves dappled his flexed body in golden coins, shifting over skin sleek and taut above powerful muscles formed by hard physical work. Hair traced a pattern across his chest then arrowed down towards his—
‘Oh, heavens,’ she whispered devoutly.
He was so big!
More colour stormed into her cheeks.
He said on a catch of laughter, ‘Do you trust me to make sure everything will be all right?’
‘I do,’ she told him softly. She reached out to trace the line of hair across his torso. His chest lifted and fell as he inhaled, and his skin was hot—so hot that she felt that it might singe her fingertips.
Against his overt power she was slender and pale; always tall, she’d never felt so fragile and womanly in her life.
Or so safe.
She looked into eyes almost closed, so that only shards of molten gold showed through his long, black lashes. Bravely, fingertips tingling, she followed the arrow of hair down.
But before she reached his waist he stopped her. ‘Better not,’ he said in a low, raw voice. ‘I’m already too close to the edge. Later you can do whatever you want to.’
Intoxicated by the thought that she had such power over him, she left that exploration for another time, raising her hand to stroke a finger down the crease in his cheek, loving him with her eyes and touch.
‘If it does hurt,’ she said in a smoky voice, ‘it will be worth it. Don’t worry—I spent a lot of time riding my horse when I was a kid, and at school they said that helped.’
He laughed quietly, and turned his head to catch her fingertip in his teeth, closing them just enough to send a series of tantalising pleasure-pain reflexes through her. Stoking them, he eased his fingers between her legs, creating a wave of such intense response that she bucked and set the hammock swaying crazily.
Somehow, she realised dazedly, he used the motion of the hammock to increase the acute, feverish hunger she felt when he touched her so intimately. Her flesh tightened around him and he said something she didn’t hear as swift, unasked-for rapture took her by surprise and she groaned and convulsed around his fingers.
‘Ah, Rosa,’ he said when it was over. ‘You surprise me constantly.’
She lifted heavy eyelids. ‘What do we do now?’
His lips moved in a keen, almost savage smile that drove her heart-rate even higher. ‘We do it—properly.’
The hammock lurched slightly as he positioned himself over her. Desperately she gripped his hips, fingers gripping his sweat-damp skin, and before she had time to think he pushed into her.
There was resistance, and yes, a little pain.
Eyes widening, she gasped, ‘It’s all right—oh!’ as he thrust home to lodge himself in her. She felt invaded, stretched and yet—whole for the first time in her life.
The incendiary thrill he’d produced with his clever fingers began to sizzle again, deep inside. Heart drumming madly, she looked up into a face made brutal by primal need, and her body tensed in eager anticipation.
‘M-Max,’ she stammered, unable to think, unable to do anything but react when he began to move once more.
‘I’m not hurting you?’ he asked in a raw voice.
The gentle rocking of the hammock sent skin licking against skin in sensuous communion.
‘Oh, no. It’s—wonderful,’ she breathed.
He dropped a kiss on her mouth, holding it captive as he started to pull back.
Chilled, she cried urgently, ‘No!’ and pressed her thighs together to stop him leaving her.
‘It’s all right,’ he promised, setting up a rhythm that marched with the wildfire thunder of her blood and the honeyed fire that his slow, deliberate advance and retreat caused.
Rosa groaned, unable to do anything but lift her hips and arch her back in an unspoken plea. He smiled—another tight, tigerish smile—but held her to the rhythm until waves of sensation rose again, but stronger and more intense than before, spreading and building through her body.
She called out something—she didn’t know what—as one last surge carried her into another dimension where the only limits were how much delicious sensation her body could cope with and still survive. Every muscle strung taut as a bow, every cell alive and aware, every nerve stretched to its utmost capacity, she crested and soared into mindless ecstasy.
‘Rosa!’
Still lost in fulfilment, she forced up her lashes. Above her, Max’s face was stripped of everything but untamed need as he thrust one last time before the rapture overwhelmed him too. Head flung back, body straining, he drove deep into her, and she thought with aching poignancy that she’d never forget this.
Never…
Dismissing the future, she concentrated on recalling everything, from the soft sibilance of the waves on the shore to the perfume of the jasmine, the heat of his body, relaxed and heavy on her, the strength he’d held in check for her…
She would carve this memory in her brain, know it so well that she’d never forget.
Max turned onto his side and hugged her to him. ‘I’m glad you rode that horse so much,’ he said solemnly.
She giggled, then yawned. Shocked, she realised that she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.
‘Sleep now; I won’t go away,’ he said, and watched with narrowed eyes as exhaustion dragged her down into the most wonderful sleep she’d ever experienced.
When she woke he was still watching her, his expression so remote and controlled that she flinched and muttered, ‘What time is it?’
‘Who cares?’
She gave a tart smile. ‘I do, because any minute now the servants will be back to prepare dinner.’
‘It’s a poor life that’s ruled by servants,’ he said with irony.
Laughing, she scrambled out, standing for a few precious seconds to gloat over him, big and powerful and hers—for the moment—sprawled in the aftermath of sated passion.
‘Like what you see?’ he asked, his smile a definite challenge.
He was aroused. After a startled, blushing glance, Rosa turned away to collect her scattered clothes. ‘Very much,’ she said sedately.
She had started to pull on undergarments when he came up and turned her into his arms, and kissed her, swift and hard and passionately.
But when she clung he set her away, reminding her with a twisted smile, ‘Servants.’
Together they went into the cool dimness of the villa, where she said awkwardly, ‘Where do you want to sleep?’
‘With you,’ he said, amusement and desire gleaming in his eyes. ‘But I’m not going to. See how servants make life difficult?’
‘They wouldn’t gossip—’
She checked her impulsive words. They’d made love—at her insistence—but that didn’t mean he’d want to sleep with her. Fighting back an obscure hurt, she said coolly, ‘Actually, you’re right. No sense in tempting fate, is there? I’ll put you along the hall.’
Of course his room wasn’t made up, and she discovered with some dismay that there were no towels in his bathroom. ‘I don’t even know where they’re kept,’ she said, feeling stupid.
He looked down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and amused. ‘Then I’ll use yours, if I may. And we can shower together.’
Her bones melted. Was there any more wonderful word than together? Trying very hard to sound sophisticated, she said, ‘I’d like that.’
Stomach fluttering, she led him to her big, airy room, with the sea glinting between the blades of the shutters, half closed against the late afternoon sun. She hoped that they’d make love again in the shower, but, although he soaped her with slow, caressing strokes and was clearly aroused, he didn’t suggest
it.
Newly emboldened, Rosa did.
‘I’d like to very much,’ he said, eyes glinting as he traced a heart in the soap bubbles on one breast, ‘but although you might not be sore now, you’re likely to be if we do it again. Wait until tomorrow morning.’
And although she pulled a face, she agreed. His consideration charmed her. But then, she thought, when he’d left to change, now that she’d made love with Max everything seemed richer, more exciting, almost as though their union had embroidered her life with extra meaning.
After dinner, when stars were pricking the midnight-blue sky and the servants had left again, she looked across the table on the terrace and murmured, ‘I hope you’re not going to be noble for too long.’
He was leaning back in his chair, one long-fingered hand curved around the stem of his half-empty wineglass, the light of the candles flickering on his handsome face. He seemed lost in thought, but when she spoke he looked up and laughed.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Anyway, there are other ways to pleasure you.’
And that hidden thrill of excitement ran through her like wildfire.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said in a different voice.
Chapter 10
After dinner Max showed her some of the ways he could pleasure her without inducing soreness.
They induced exhaustion, though—an ecstatic, sated weariness that saw Rosa lying limply in his arms as she asked in a drained voice, ‘Do you mind if I stay like this for the night?’
‘I’d enjoy it very much—too much!—but we need to establish that we’re sleeping in different rooms,’ he said reluctantly.
More confident now of his desire, she pouted. ‘No one would know. Your security man said the house was free from bugs, and we could rumple your bed.’
‘There are other ways of finding things out—telephoto lenses, for example.’
Gently but deliberately, he eased her off, and got out of the bed without turning on the light. The moon had risen, tiger-striping him with silver bars through the shutters. He looked big and powerful and alien, even though she now knew every smooth, strong bulge of muscle, every clean line of sinew and bone, the way he smelled, his taste…