Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  Luke smiled as if reading her thoughts. "You can use the bathroom first." He went through to his own room.

  Sophie hurriedly did as he said, not wishing to1 still be under the shower when he himself decided to use the bathroom. She was just putting the final touches to her lipstick when Luke came through to her room, devastatingly attractive in a fitted brown suit and tan shirt. She herself was wearing one of the gowns bought specifically for her honeymoon, its golden color matching her hair perfectly. It fitted like a second skin over her curves before flowing down to her ankles, her height added to by slender gold sandals.

  Luke made no comment about her appearance, taking out a long jewelry case from her pocket. "Turn around," he ordered her.

  She felt the coolness of the gold against her skin, watching their reflections in the mirror as Luke fastened a chunky gold choker around her throat. "It's…it's very beautiful." She touched it wonderingly, surprised by his gift.

  Luke's hands remained possessively on her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror as his lips followed the path of the choker. "It could not hope to match your own beauty," he said throatily.

  Sophie's breath caught in her throat and she felt herself tremble as he pulled her back against him, his thighs hard against her. "You… you're very flattering."

  He moved away from her, straightening his cuff as if their closeness had never happened. He certainly showed none of the breathless excitement that she felt. "One does not flatter one's wife," he informed her. "One merely comments on her appearance—and you look beautiful."

  "Thank you." His explanation took away any intimacy that might have been between them. "Shall we go down now?"

  "Of course," he nodded.

  The dining room adjoined the ballroom, making it possible for Sophie to listen to the romantic music drifting in from there and watch the dancers rather than sit self consciously aware of the friction between herself and Luke.

  The meal was excellent, as was the service, but then that was to be expected with a celebrity like Luke Vittorio staying at the hotel. Sophie felt out of her depth and consequently felt too shy to answer Luke's occasional remarks with anything more than monosyllables.

  Having come down late for their meal they were among the last to leave the dining room. Sophie felt her panic returning with the end of their meal, tired but knowing that sleep would not be something Luke had in mind for their return to their suite.

  She clutched at his sleeve as they left the dining room. "Could we, er, could we go-in and dance?" She looked at him hopefully, dreading the night ahead of her because it would make her completely Luke's. Anything to delay that moment.

  Luke's expression wasn't forthcoming. "It is late, and you have had a long day.''

  She gave him a bright smile meant to show him she was wide awake; "I'd like to dance, Luke," she asked pleadingly.

  "I really think—"

  "Oh, please, Luke," she pouted prettily. "It's early yet. Why, it isn't even eleven o'clock yet."

  "I did have other plans for this evening." His eyes were deeply brown as he looked down at her.

  She blushed. ''But we could dance a little first."

  "First…?"

  "Before we go up to our rooms," her color stayed high at his mockery.

  "Very well," he at last agreed.

  Sophie could have sighed her relief as they were shown to a table, accepting the champagne Luke ordered for them.

  "To us," he toasted softly.

  "Yes," she agreed breathlessly, finding the look in his eyes more and more seductive. He shouldn't be looking at her like that, not in front of all these people. She gulped down the champagne, gasping as the bubbles went up her nose. She put her glass out to Luke to be refilled.

  He did so, his mouth quirking into a smile. "I hope you do not intend getting yourself drunk," he said teasingly.

  "And incapable?" she joked, her eyes twinkling from the effect of the alcohol.

  “Especially incapable.''

  "I'll try not to." She couldn't look at him.

  "Would you like to dance now?''

  Did she want to be that close to him? "I, well, I—"

  "That is what we came in here for, after all," he reminded her.

  She stood up jerkily. "Yes, yes, I suppose it is."

  "You do not sound too sure."

  She gave him that bright smile again. "Of course

  I'm sure." She just wasn't sure about being in his arms.

  He danced well, as she had known he would, and by the looks they were receiving from the guests at the hotel he was also being recognized. The people were too polite to actually come over and speak to him, but it made Sophie feel very conspicuous.

  "Forget them," Luke whispered against her'tearlobe, his. lips caressing her creamy skin.

  Sophie jerked in his arms, just the touch of his mouth unnerving her. Oh, God, what was she going to be like when they went upstairs together! "Them?" she asked huskily.

  "Forget other people." He pulled her gently against-him, closing the gap between them.

  All Sophie's breath seemed to leave her body at his closeness. "I—It's rather difficult when they keep staring at us."

  "Changed your mind about going to our suite?"

  His lips on her throat made her burn all over, her breathing constricted. "No!" she said sharply. "No, I still want to dance." She tried to get normality back "in her voice and failed.

  Luke shrugged. "I am in no hurry."

  She was sure he wasn't. After all, he had all week to make her his wife in the fullest sense; he had no need to rush it. He knew there was no escape for her.

  They danced together for over an hour, by which time the champagne had begun to give her a much less frightening impression of her husband. The tension left her body and the two of them danced slowly together, often not bothering to move to the music as it changed tempo. Sophie's head rested on Luke's shoulder, her arms up around his neck.

  "Enough is enough, Sophie," he said suddenly, "It is time to go to our suite."

  That brought her back down to reality. She looked up at him. "Do we have to?"

  There was a certain tautness about the sensuality of his mouth. "Unless you wish for me to make love to you right here," he said grimly.

  "Oh."

  "So we leave?"

  "Yes," she nodded hurriedly. She had pushed him too far already; she couldn't hope to push her luck any further.

  They went up alone in the elevator, the tension between them a tangible thing. Luke was watching her with brooding eyes, and she could be in no doubt of his desire for her. But then what else could she expect—that was the reason he had married her.

  The nightgown bought for her wedding night seemed hardly worth the bother of putting it on once she looked at herself in the mirror. She had turned the lights down to a golden glow, but still her body was visible through its transparency. She hadn't realized it was quite so transparent, her every curve revealed, her breasts uptilted and inviting.

  The door to her balcony stood open, enticing her to gaze out at the sight of Paris by moonlight. It seemed that it was all spread out before her, curiously quiet up here, and very, very beautiful. It was a view for lovers, and Sophie shivered as she felt Luke's arms go around her waist, his hands coming to rest on the flatness of her stomach as he pulled her back against the hardness of his body.

  "You are not cold?" he murmured against her throat.

  She was burning! "No."

  "Beautiful, is it not?" But she had the idea he wasn't talking about Paris.

  "Very." She felt tongue-tied by the movement of his hands on her body as they moved up to cup her breasts, his fingers caressing.

  "Shall we go inside?" he invited. "You must be a little chilled."

  "No, I—"

  "I am not going to hurt you," he said gentry, taking her hand and leading her back inside.

  He was dressed much the same as he had been the night she and her stepmother had invaded the privacy of his bedr
oom, the white robe that reached down to his knees the only article of clothing he wore. His hah- was still damp from the shower he had just taken, the smell of his aftershave tangy and stirring to the senses.

  He retained his hold on her hand as she would have moved away, his gaze resting intimately on her almost naked body. "I have waited a long time for this," he murmured. "Only the painting has kept me sane the last few weeks."

  Her eyes widened. "You still have it?"

  Luke smiled. "But of coarse. I have said you do not have to see it, but that does not mean I cannot look at it from time to time. It shows you as I would like to see you all the time, wanton from lovemaking—my lovemaking," he added harshly.

  She knew his anger had returned by the assessing look in his eyes, knew he was thinking of her stepmother's broad hints as to her nonexistent condition, knew he would not be appeased until he had possessed her for himself and learned the truth.

  "I have said I will be a generous lover," he continued. "But at this moment I do not know if I can keep that promise. I have to know, you see, Sophie. I have to know!"

  "Please be gentle with me, Luke."

  "For the reason Rosemary implied?" he demanded bitterly.

  "No! I—"

  "Do not make any more denials," he ordered. "I do not want to hear them. You are my wife, this is our wedding night, and I do not intend to let you be haunted by the lovemaking of another man."

  "Another man "

  "Sedgwick-Jones," he said harshly. "But by the time I

  have finished with you, you will think of no man but me."

  “I—-“

  "No more protests." He swung her up into his arms, “Think of no one but me."

  How could she possibly think of anyone but him with him pinning her to the bed with his body, his hands touching and caressing her, his mouth in total possession of her. His onslaught to her senses was slow and deliberate, allowing her no chance to be anything but totally aroused by him, her arms encircling his waist as she felt herself sinking into the total oblivion of his seduction.

  "Untie my robe," he ordered her roughly. "I want to be naked against you."

  She wanted it, too, wanted it desperately. He was playing with her body like an expert, arousing her and enjoying her arousal. She did as he asked, slipping his robe off his shoulders. She felt shy about looking at him, the perfection of a man's body a revelation to her—the ripple of muscle over shoulders and stomach, the dark hair completely covering his body—just the male beauty of him.

  She no longer felt embarrassed, touching him in wonderment, his sharply indrawn breath all she needed to show her how her touch affected him. He was no longer the aggressor, lying back to let her take the initiative, his eyes half closed in pleasure, his breathing ragged and labored.

  Her hands passed with wonder over the strength of his chest, the flatness of his stomach, her butterfly movements hesitating about further intimacies.�

  "Please continue,'' Luke invited huskily.

  She couldn't now that he had told her to, her brief exploration coming to an abrupt end, her face scarlet. She f looked at him helplessly, her newfound confidence deserting her.

  Luke sat up, leaning on one elbow to look down at her.

  "Let me take off this ridiculous trifle." He caressed her body through the thinness of her gown. "I want to be closer to you."

  Her husky laugh caught in her throat. "We can't be much closer."

  "Oh, yes, we can." The gown was quickly dispensed with, and he set about showing her just how much closer they could be.

  Sophie's relative inexperience didn't seem to trouble Luke as he took her to the. very edge of a sensual abyss. And then he took her over, well over, her one feeling of pain soon forgotten as a feeling of exquisite joy invaded every pore of her body. That Luke knew of her pleasure she had no doubt, conscious of a more urgent thrusting of his own body as he brought them both to trembling fulfillment, his body weightless above her.

  They lay exhausted in each others arms. Sophie had never known such pleasure, never felt she completely't belonged to anyone before. And she hadn't. None of the't! tentative kisses she had received from Nicholas and boys like him compared to anything like the complete devastation she had just passed through with Luke.

  His arms clamped around her as she stirred against him. "Be still," he commanded. "You are not to leave me."

  “I wasn't going to.'' She snuggled against him.

  "Good." He held her against him and she felt the desire ebbing back into his body. "The night is far from over."

  And it was, as Luke took her once more in the night, as before raising her to the heights so that she was clinging and weak in his arms, But not once did any words of tenderness or love pass his lips, his only interest seeming to be in her body and the pleasure he could extract from it.

  But by the time she woke in his arms late in the morning she knew herself to be deeply in love with her husband, had half known it before their marriage, but now knew it with a certainty that would never pass. She was married to the only man she would ever love, and had no way of knowing how he really felt about her.

  She slipped out of the bed, pulling on Luke's robe to wander out onto the balcony. Paris was still as beautiful by day, although not as seducing. She knew she had pleased

  Luke physically, had known he found her response to him exciting, but she had no way of knowing how long that was going to last.

  She melted back against him as she felt his arms go around her from behind. She rubbed her head against his chin. "I thought you were asleep." She turned to smile at him.

  "When you are not beside me?" He kissed her throat. "Come back to bed, Mrs. Vittorio," he ordered huskily.

  "Certainly not," she laughed softly. "It's very late in the morning, and we haven't even had breakfast yet."

  "I was just about to partake of mine—you."

  She twisted out of his arms, finding she could still blush as she saw his nakedness. Of course, she was wearing his bathrobe! "I think you've had me enough for one day."

  He shook his head. "I have not had you at all today— last night was a different matter."

  She looked at him shyly. "But aren't you exhausted?"

  "From making love to you? Never. Are you?"

  Strangely enough she wasn't, for she felt refreshed by the physical love he had shown her at last. She shook her head wordlessly.

  Luke opened his arms to her. "Then come to me, Sophie. If you must think of mundane things like food, we will have lunch later—much later."

  She burrowed against him. "I'm not really hungry, either."

  "I did not say I was not hungry," he growled. "But my hunger is of a different kind."

  "You're insatiable.'' She blushed.

  "Yes," he agreed willingly.

  It was after one o'clock when they finally called down for lunch. Sophie felt sure the waiter was looking at them knowingly as he served their meal to them on the balcony, although she knew there was no evidence of the night they had just spent in the. now tidied order of her bedroom. Luke looked as confident as ever, ignoring the waiter and seeming to have eyes only for her.

  "Oh, Luke." She colored delicately once they were alone. "I'm sure he knew."

  Luke sipped his wine. "Knew what, cara?"

  That we—that we had—"

  "Just got out of bed," he finished teasingly. "But we have."

  "I know. But—well, I—It—"

  "Do not blush so, Sophie. It is normal to be this way on one's honeymoon."

  "Yes, but—"

  "You are too sensitive. Paris was made for love."

  For love, yes, but did they have love? She very much doubted it. If their fevered lovemaking of last night had not brought any words of love from him, then she didn't think anything else ever would. She was an attractive female to him, someone he desired, and the fact that she was his wife simply gave him access to her anytime he chose.

  Right now, after the night and morning they had just
shared, she should be basking in Luke's love, but instead she was still uncertain of him in every way. Physical pleasure couldn't hope to replace the love she craved, no matter how satisfying it could be.

  "Do not look so worried, Sophie," Luke said lightly. "No one is about to reprimand you for spending the morning in bed with your husband."

  "It's just so embarrassing that everyone should know."

  "They would know anyway." He fed her a grape from the bowl in the middle of the table. "You have that certain look about you."

  "The look of your possession."

  "If you like, yes."

  Oh, she liked; she liked his possession of her too much for her peace of mind. It was as she had known it would be. She felt fired by his every touch, while he gave every indication of being able to control his desire for her, was able to control it and master it if necessary. Never once during their lovemaking had he given in to his own passion until he was sure she had found satisfaction, never once losing control as completely as she had.

  "Do you believe me now?" she asked shyly.

  "About what, coral"

  "About…about Nicholas, about this mythical baby."

  "Ah, yes. You were telling the truth—you could not have been carrying anyone's child before yesterday. You were untouched."

  "And if I hadn't been…untouched, I mean? If you couldn't be convinced that way that there was no baby?"

  "Time would have shown one way or the other."

  "Yes, but—"

  "Why do you persist in these questions, Sophie? They are irrelevant."

  "Not to me."

  "Why?"

  "Because it isn't, What would you have done if you had—if you had made love to me last night and found I had had other lovers?''

  "I do not know."

  "Yes, you do. Tell me, Luke," she pleaded.

  "Very well," he said impatiently. "If that had been the case, in the light of what Rosemary disclosed yesterday, we would have returned to London today. I had already warned you I did not want a wife who had been with other men, especially a wife who could be carrying another man's child. But I now know that is not true so it does not apply."

  "I see." She bit her lip. "But our marriage would have ended?"

  "Of course,'' he said haughtily.