‘Yuk!’ she exclaimed as they both bobbed up beside the boat. ‘Did you see that moray? He has to be about the ugliest creature alive in the sea!’
‘Don’t let Mrs Moray hear you saying that,’ César warned teasingly. ‘She may take offence and bite off your toes.’
The fact that Annie had just removed her flippers and thrown them into the bottom of the boat, leaving her toes very vulnerable, meant that his remark was well timed. She shrieked, and made a lurching dive for safety, almost managing to drown them both as she landed in a flail of arms and legs against his big, strong chest.
One of his arms closed instinctively round her while the other hand grabbed at the side of the boat, his amused laughter filling the air.
Then he wasn’t laughing, and Annie had gone perfectly still because it had happened, just like that. Quick, strong and undeniable. Awareness—hot and stifling. Skin sliding wetly against skin. Bodies remembering—recognising the pleasurable potency of the other.
His arm was tight around her slender waist, his eyes burning fiercely into the wide, shocked depths of hers.
‘Please, César, no,’ she pleaded when she saw his gaze drop to her mouth.
‘Why not?’ he murmured huskily. ‘Why not, when you know it is what we both want?’
‘No.’ She shook her wet head, fingers curling tensely into the rigid muscles in his shoulders.
‘A kiss. Just a kiss.’
‘No.’ But she felt the muscles deep in her body tighten in sweet expectancy.
‘Yes,’ he countered, his eyes darkening languorously, his mouth taking on a soft, sensual curve. ‘Yes, dammit, yes.’ And he moved to angle his lips against her own.
Annie shied away, twisting her head and stretching her body as she made a desperate grab for the boat with both hands. The action set the little boat rocking precariously, and for a moment she hung there helplessly, because César did not immediately concede defeat and let her go, his arm remaining a possessive clamp around her slender waist. Her heart began to pump, tension in the muscles around it making each heavy thump painful. She closed her eyes, wet lashes spiked and trembling against the soft skin covering her high cheek-bones.
If he pulls me back…she thought tensely. If he pulls me back I’ll give in to him. I know I will!
Then the arm was slackening, and instead of imprisoning it became two hands on her waist, helping to lever her into the boat.
She didn’t look at him as he joined her there, and though she felt his eyes on her she let the tense silence grow. The afternoon was spoiled now anyway, the brief period of easy pleasure they had found in each other’s company ruined by a torment that simply refused to go away.
César must have been thinking along similar lines, because instead of getting them under way he sat back and let loose a heavy sigh. ‘Refusing to acknowledge it will not make it easier,’ he said gravely. ‘It simply makes it worse. Believe me, I know.’
‘The voice of experience?’ she flashed at him bitterly.
He grimaced then shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, though she suspected that he didn’t want to.
‘You are a complete stranger to me.’ Grimly she stared at the gold band encircling her finger. ‘A week ago I didn’t know of your existence. Three days ago we met and parted without my even learning your name. Forty-eight hours ago…’ Almost exactly, she then added as a bitter, silent adjoiner as her gaze drifted out to the steadily dying day. ‘You were throwing insults and threats at me and vowing to ruin my life!’
‘And two hours after that you were lying in my arms,’ he added, ‘getting to know me as intimately as a woman can. What does that tell you, Annie,’ he prompted gently, ‘about the insults and threats that preceded the passion?’
It told her that they were a front to what had really been erupting between them. Memories crowded in—hot, turbulent memories that darkened her eyes and thickened her breath. Then came the shudder of shame—the shame of knowing how easily and thoroughly she had surrendered to the morass of desires raging through her that night.
‘Instant physical attraction is not uncommon between the sexes, Angelica,’ César inserted quietly. ‘It happens all the time.’
Not to me it doesn’t, she thought. ‘You are still a stranger,’ she said. ‘A man who set out to trap and manipulate me from the first moment we met.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He heaved an impatient sigh. ‘I have learned to regret my original intentions. What else can I say?’ His green eyes glinted at her in helpless appeal.
‘Nothing,’ she mumbled, and made a play of straightening the wet snorkelling gear littering the bottom of the boat.
César watched her for a while, his face tight and grim. Then he sighed again, and turned his attention to pulling up the anchor.
They chugged back to the little cove in sober silence, sitting close in the tight confines of the small boat, yet with a thick wall erected between them. With a deft cut of the motor at just the right moment he eased the nose of the boat up onto the beach on the crest of an incoming wave. Then he was jumping out and wading forwards to help Annie clamber out.
The feel of his hand on her arm made her flesh tingle, and she couldn’t stop the revealing shiver that feathered her slender frame.
His grip tightened fractionally in response. ‘It won’t go away,’ he repeated roughly from just behind her. ‘We’ve lit the flame, Annie. Now it’s hungry for more.’
She didn’t answer, but pulled free of him and walked away on legs weak and trembling in reaction, because she knew that he was right. And, far from going away, it was getting stronger. Worse. Desperate almost.
* * *
Dinner that evening was an ordeal. To be fair to César he tried to keep the mood light and casual, but she could hardly look at him without feeling her senses catch light.
It frightened her—the intensity of her awareness of him. Her mind refused to stop replaying to her how his silken, tight skin, hidden beneath the conventional white shirt he was wearing, felt to the touch, or reminding her how those long, blunt-ended fingers he used to pick up his glass or lift his fork to his mouth could draw such clamorous pleasure from her. His mouth, sipping intermittently at wine, was saying words she did not hear, because she was too lost in the memory of how they had felt tasting her—
‘More wine?’
‘What?’ She started, her eyes focusing on the sardonic expression in his. He knew, and she flushed, looking quickly down and away. ‘No—thank you,’ she refused, and jerked to her feet. ‘I’m—t-tired,’ she stammered nervously. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’
She didn’t wait for him to answer, didn’t look at him again, but she was fiercely aware of his sardonic gaze following her hurried journey across the room, and felt as if she was ready to crack in two under the tension inside her as she left him with a flurry of nervous limbs.
CHAPTER NINE
THE moon set early in the Caribbean, leaving it to the myriad stars hanging in the satin-dark sky to provide what light there was filtering into Annie’s bedroom. It was enough, or at least enough to save the room from a total blackout. She could just make out the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, for instance, and the dark shapes of furniture scattered about the room.
Wide awake, even though it had to be way past midnight, she traced the shapes lazily with her eyes, her body very still beneath the white cotton sheet that she had drawn up beneath her arms. But inside she was restless, troubled—disturbed by what was bothering hear and what she could not seem to control unless she lay very still like this and breathed very carefully, and centred her whole concentration on keeping it all severely banked down.
Is this what it feels like, she wondered, to want what you shouldn’t want? To desire what you should not desire? To need it so badly that it actually became the driving force for your life’s blood?
Sighing shakily, she lifted a hand to rest it beneath her cool cheek, settling against it as though it would offer some comfort, some relief.
It didn’t, and the fingers on the other hand began to tap a restless dance against the graceful curve of her long thigh beneath the sheet. Her gaze lowered to watch them, her mind acknowledging that the restlessness was beginning to break out. Perhaps she should get up and take a walk along the beach? she mused. Do something—anything to take her mind off what she knew was trying to break through all her restraints.
Sex. You’ve tasted the elixir, Annie, and now you’re hungry for more.
She smiled at her own mockery, then stopped smiling, the fingers stopping their tapping when her gaze caught the washed-out glint of gold encircling the third finger on her left hand.
Married to a man who made you a millionairess within minutes of putting that ring there. She frowned. What had made him do it? No man in his right mind gave a woman he hardly knew a gift like that!
There again, no man who saw that woman as little better than a whore took her to bed and ravished her. Not a man of César’s calibre, anyway.
He was a strange man—a complicated man. A man who contrarily confused, infuriated and fascinated her with his quick-fire changes in character. One minute arrogant, insufferably domineering—bullish. The next, soft, caring, gentle, considerate—dynamically charming when she least expected it.
Dangerous too, she added to her growing list. Dangerous because he had managed to do what no man before him had ever done, and had got beneath the protective skin she wore so thickly around herself. Dangerous because he wanted her with a hunger that burned constantly behind whatever else they were doing, whether that was slinging insults at each other or just trying—trying—to be civilised towards each other.
And what about yourself? she then countered grimly. Your behaviour is no less contrary than his! You profess to hate and despise him for what he’s done, but you also want him with the same unforgivable hunger.
Every time you look at him you torture yourself with memories of how his lips felt against your own, or how frighteningly superb he looked naked and aroused, or what it felt like to have him deep inside you! If he so much as touches you your skin leaps into vibrant, burning life, your stomach muscles knot and your thighs throb.
Hell, even lying here just thinking of him and it’s all beginning to happen!
Restlessly she moved again, flipping over to lie curled on her side, half considering getting up, going for that walk along the beach that she had suggested to herself, when her bedroom door came open, and all thoughts of any kind were suspended as the disturbingly dark bulk of a man seemed to fill the whole room.
He paused for a moment. She stopped breathing, her very bones tingling as if they’d just received an electric shock.
Then he was stepping inwards and closing the door behind him. Her heart took up an unsteady hammer. Eyes huge, throat locking, she watched him walk slowly towards the bed where she lay.
He was wearing a thin black cotton robe and nothing else as far as she could tell. And she could almost feel the tension in his body as he came closer, bringing with him the scent of male heat and the tantalising freshness of a spicy male soap.
As he came to a standstill right beside where she lay she lifted her eyes to let them clash with his; hers were wary, questioning what this unexpected visit meant when really she knew exactly what it meant. The reality of it was already turning the very tissue of her being to a warm, sensual liquid because his eyes were hiding nothing—nothing.
Yet in silence he waited. Breathlessly she waited. Eyes locked. The tension between them was so fraught that she could almost taste it, even ran her tongue around parched lips as if to do just that.
When long moments passed and she had said not a word he bent down towards her, braced his hands on the pillow either side of her head and murmured softly, ‘Invite me to stay.’
Her senses quivered. ‘I…’ The sound came out frail and breathless—hardly a sound at all really as she found herself caught by the beauty of his sensually moulded mouth hovering a bare inch away from her own.
‘Please.’ He closed the gap and kissed her. It was nothing more than the gentlest touch of his mouth against her own, but her own lips clung as he drew away again.
‘Please,’ he repeated softly. ‘Please…’
At last she breathed, her breasts lifting and falling on the small, constricted action. But other than that she couldn’t manage another single thing. Yet…
Had she answered? she found herself wondering dizzily. She was vaguely certain that she hadn’t said yes, but was also sure that she hadn’t said no.
But whatever she did do César took it as an affirmative, because after a moment he whispered, ‘Thank you.’ Then he was straightening again, holding her gaze with his own darkly burning one as he unknotted and stripped off his robe, paused for a moment as if to give her a final opportunity to make a protest, jaw clenched, the rigid walls of his stomach clenched, his body already wearing the evidence of desire.
Then he lifted the edge of the thin sheet and in one fluid, graceful movement came to lie down beside her.
His fingers were trembling a little as he gently stroked them across her cheek and slid them beneath the heavy fall of her hair. Then he was drawing her towards him, turning her, moulding her, and slowly—oh, so slowly that her senses began to vibrate, her lips to pulse, part, gasp out a single shaky breath—he closed the gap between their mouths.
His lips were as full and pulsing as her own, both so hot that they seemed to fuse, the shock of it sending one of her hands jerking up to press against his chest.
He shuddered. It ran through him like a tidal wave, drawing a groan from him; then he was pushing her gently onto her back and coming with her, his upper body crushing her into the soft mattress as it pressed lightly down.
For a moment her courage failed, memories of that other hot violent eruption of passion making her gasp in shaky fear.
But he soothed her with a caressing hand. ‘No,’ he murmured, as if he knew exactly what had frightened her. ‘This is passion I am feeling for you, not angry desire. It runs through my blood like a fire, but it is not destructive. Some fires cleanse, Angelica,’ he told her softly. ‘I want to cleanse that other experience from your mind.’
Then he was kissing her again, and any hope of forming a conscious decision for herself was lost in the slow, deep sensuality of it.
It went on and on, not even breaking when he began to caress her, his hand sliding against the smooth silk of her nightdress in a long, sweeping motion that followed the delicacy of her ribcage, the flatness of her stomach and finally the length of her thighs where the nightdress ended and satin-smooth flesh began.
She must have moved restlessly because he instantly soothed her again, bringing his other hand out from beneath her head to lay it gently against her cheek.
And still the beautiful kiss did not break. Nor did it when he spent an age seemingly content to stroke her like that. He didn’t touch her intimately, didn’t even try to remove her nightdress, but simply played a kind of magic with her flesh, coaxing, gently coaxing the fine, light tremors to overtake her, and eventually her muscles to begin expanding and contracting to the sensual rhythm he induced.
In the end she couldn’t stand it, and dragged her mouth away from his with a sharp, helpless gasp for air. He let her go, his eyes almost sombre as they studied her, his hand pausing against the quivering flesh of her stomach.
‘What?’ he whispered. ‘What?’
She closed her eyes in confusion. Even his softly spoken voice was having the most overwhelming effect on her. ‘I don’t know,’ she breathed, panting a little in an effort to control what was happening inside her.
‘Then don’t try to think,’ he advised. ‘Just follow me. Trust me, Annie. And between us we will make this the most beautiful experience of our lives.’
Trust him. Follow him. She really did not have any choice. From the moment his mouth captured hers again she was lost—lost in the dark, sensual beauty of the man. Lost in what he could make
her feel, and lost in the wonder of what she could do to him.
It was slow and it was rich and it went very deep, each touch, each caress, each accidental brush of their skin heightening an awareness inside them that seemed to encapsulate the two of them in a hot, dark world of their own.
His touch became more intimate, knowing, sending her boneless so she lay there in helpless thrall. The caress of his tongue on her eager skin drew soft gasps of pleasure from her, the silk-like thrust of his throbbing manhood nudging against her thigh filling her with a sense of power that made her bold.
When she began caressing him he fell heavily onto his back, to lie blatant in his desire for more, eyes closed, mouth parted, his gasps of pleasure urging her on. His skin felt like tightly padded satin, the muscles beneath it rigid then rippling in response to her touch. She kissed his damp throat then his shoulder, then, unable to resist it, tasted his sweat on her tongue, trailing it over his chest until she found and began to suck on his tight male nipple.
His hands jerked up to grasp her head tightly, holding her there while he seemed to stop breathing, to go motionless as the sensations she was causing inside him took hold.
Then her hand glided tentatively over his stomach, and he jolted into life like a man shot, startling her as he reared upwards and over her, his hand whipping down to imprison hers as his husky growl revealed the extent of his arousal before he was kissing her hungrily again, stopping her from thinking again, taking control again, slowing things down, drawing it out until she really believed that she was going to die if he didn’t do something to ease the unbearable pressure building deep down inside her.
Her hand jerked to his hair, fingers curling, tightening, tugging with unknown violence, dragging the thin ribbon free so that the black satiny mass slid like a curtain all around her. She sighed against his mouth, restlessly urgent. Someone was groaning and whimpering, and she knew that someone was herself. Her senses were in ferment, rushing in a panicked stampede through her body in an effort to crowd where the tension grew.
The Morning After Page 13