by Sara Craven
‘Luca,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Luca—why did I have to meet you now? Why couldn’t it have been long ago when everything was different? When I was different?’
She fell asleep at last, but woke again at sunrise. She showered, put on her robe, then worked doggedly for several hours, drinking cups of black coffee and not allowing herself to think of anything else while she caught up with her schedule.
This was her real life, she thought, as she finally closed down her laptop, and she must never forget that. Must take care to ignore any temptation to wonder if it could ever have been otherwise.
She did some washing and hung it in the small courtyard at the back of the house. It was going to be the warmest day yet, she realised, looking up at the sun, high in an almost cloudless sky. A foretaste of summer heat, and there was little breeze so the sea would be like a millpond.
She fought with herself as she tidied an already tidy house, repeating over and over again that she would be a fool and worse than a fool to go anywhere near the beach today whatever the weather. But, as she’d known from the first, it was a losing battle, so she changed into a bikini, covered it with shorts and a cheesecloth shirt, put sun lotion, a towel, some bottled water and an apple in a canvas bag and headed for the shore.
She had just reached the steps when Luca’s hand descended lightly on her shoulder. ‘Buon giorno,’ he said. ‘Where is your little friend today?’
She said stiltedly, ‘The Signora’s niece is taking her out for the day, and Poco is going too. The children adore him.’
‘Ah.’ His brows lifted. ‘So, is it possible for you to tolerate my company alone?’
He was wearing khaki shorts, and espadrilles, his sun glasses pushed up on top of his head, and the rest of him was bare bronze skin. The faint amusement in his dark eyes was also playing round his firm mouth, and every inch of him spelled danger.
She said huskily, ‘I thought I might swim.’
‘I thought so too. I was only waiting for you.’
‘And if I’d stayed away?’ As I should have done …
He shrugged a shoulder and she tried not to notice the play of muscle under the smooth skin. ‘Then I would have come to find you.’
He had already spread a towel in the shelter of a rock, and she arranged hers beside it, fumbling a little as she felt tension building inside her.
He said gently, ‘There is no need to be afraid.’
Now how did he know that? she wondered wildly. Aloud, she said, ‘I—I don’t understand what’s happening. Why you are doing this, when you know—when I’ve told you the situation.’
‘You have told me certain things.’ The dark gaze held hers. ‘But not all of it, I think.’
Ellie bit her lip. ‘All that is possible, anyway.’
‘At least until you begin to trust me,’ he agreed, unzipping his shorts to reveal black swimming trunks.
Feeling absurdly self-conscious, Ellie discarded her own shorts and shirt, thankful that her dark green bikini was cut on lines more demure than strictly fashionable, but aware, just the same, of the frank appreciation in his expression.
Then he took her hand, and began to walk down the beach, his pace quickening until he was running with Ellie laughing and breathless at his side as they reached the water’s edge, and splashed into the softly curling shallows.
For a moment the sea felt so cold it made her gasp, but Luca’s arm was round her, urging her forward, making her forget her initial recoil as the water deepened.
And when the lean, brown body beside her dived forward into the waves, she followed, the chill suddenly becoming—exhilaration.
It had been months since her last swim, and all the bleak unhappiness and uncertainty she’d experienced during that time seemed to fall away from her, leaving her buoyant as the sunlit air as she cut through the water in her smooth, efficient crawl.
When she began to feel the pull on her muscles, she turned and swam back slowly to where Luca was waiting for her, treading water, his dark hair gleaming in the sun.
‘You swim very well,’ he said. ‘Where did you learn?’
‘Here,’ she said. ‘My father taught me when we came to stay with my grandmother.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I used to go to the public baths sometimes when I lived in Rome, although they were always so crowded. Several of my colleagues went to the big hotels to swim in their pools, but I found that too expensive.’
‘Che peccato,’ Luca said softly. ‘Because I often did the same. We might have met much earlier.’
‘I think I’d have been lost in the crowd.’ In so many ways … She forced a smile. ‘But that’s why I’m out of practice and out of condition.’
‘It is not apparent. You came here often as a child?’
‘Whenever it was possible. We all loved it.’ She paused. ‘Nonna Vittoria’s other daughter, my aunt and—and her family were never as keen.’
Now why, she wondered vexed, did I need to mention that?
She added hurriedly, ‘And I love it still.’
‘That is evident. But it is a pity that you come here alone.’
‘I don’t see it that way at all.’ She began to swim back to the shore using a sedate breast-stroke. ‘I’m quite happy in my own company.’
His voice reached her quietly. ‘And that is an even greater pity. A woman with such a gift for happiness should not prefer solitude.’
Once out of the water, Ellie walked quickly up the beach, aware of Luca keeping pace at her shoulder and the unruly hammering of her heart as she headed for the freshwater shower sited at the edge of the promenade to rinse the salt from her skin. She stepped into the shallow basin, and reached for the control lever only to find his hand covering hers as he joined her under the shower head, pulling her towards him.
She said in a voice she didn’t recognise, ‘No, please, you mustn’t. It’s not right …’
‘Are you throwing your marriage in my face again, Helen?’ His tone was harsh. ‘The fact that you belong to another man? Do you wish he was here with you now instead of me—this husband?’
And this time her whispered ‘No’ was in acceptance, not denial, as Luca turned on the water and stood, holding her close against him so that she breathed the cool, salty fragrance of his skin as the cascade covered them both. She could feel the thud of his heart echoing through her own bloodstream, and leaned into him, resting her forehead against the muscularity of his chest, her legs shaking under her, waiting for what would be.
When the gush of water stopped, Luca put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up towards his. He said gently, ‘I will say again—you have nothing to fear, I promise you. Nothing.’ And let her go.
Afterwards, when they had gone back to the rock and dried themselves, Ellie produced her sun lotion and Luca lay, propped up on an elbow observing her, his dark gaze candidly intent, as she applied the liquid to her slender legs, her arms, her midriff, and, having carefully removed the halter strap, the faint swell of her breasts above the bikini top.
She said with a catch in her breath, ‘Why are you watching me?’
‘You know why, mia bella.’ There was a smile in his voice, as he stretched out a hand for the bottle. ‘So there is no need to play games. Permit me to attend to your back, per favore.’
She turned over, lying face downwards on her towel, her body rigid, hands clamped to her sides, trying to subdue the uncertain clamour of her pulses.
Luca began with her shoulders, his touch as gentle as she had hoped—or perhaps dreaded. As he smoothed the lotion into her heated skin with light, circular movements, Ellie found her fists slowly beginning to unclench and the tension in her muscles relaxing.
His hand moved downwards, and she flinched instinctively as he released the clip that fastened her bra.
‘No—please.’
‘Will it also please you to have a mark across your back?’ he asked softly, as his fingertips anointed the delicate, untrammelled contour of her spine.
There seem
ed no answer to that, and the lingering stroke of his hands on her body was making her so breathless she probably couldn’t have spoken anyway, she thought, closing her eyes and giving herself up to pure sensation.
He did not hurry, finishing his ministrations decorously about a centimetre above the band of her bikini briefs. ‘Now you will not burn.’
But she was scorching already, every fibre of her being, each bone, each drop of blood in her starved body coming alive, its long-suppressed hunger crying out for appeasement—for a satisfaction that had up to now only existed in her imagination. That she had tried so hard to teach herself to live without, while struggling at the same time to endure those brief, unhappy encounters in the marriage bed. Until endurance threatened to turn into heartbreak and became utterly impossible.
A voice she did not recognise mumbled ‘Grazie.’
‘Prego,’ Luca returned and she felt the swift brush of his lips on the nape of her neck before he turned away to stretch out on his own towel.
She pretended to doze, keeping her eyes closed, letting her breathing slow to a quiet rhythm, but her body was wide-awake, in thrall to this delicious agony of need that his touch had engendered. Which he must realise, she thought unhappily. He was an experienced man who’d know exactly what effect even the most casual caress would have. Who intended it to arouse and incite. To make her want him.
Because—hadn’t seduction been his purpose ever since he’d walked into the trattoria some forty eight hours earlier and seen her there? She swallowed. After all, he’d hardly made a secret of it. Had he? And her rejection of him had only made him more determined, if only to heal his damaged male ego.
I should never have let this begin, she thought desperately. I should have gone while I had the chance. Headed south. Found a small pensione somewhere equally unfashionable and played the waiting game until I could call Santino and check that Luca had gone and it was safe to return.
But it was pride that kept me here. Wanting to prove to myself that I could cope with the situation and keep him at arm’s length. That very same pride that took me away from Vostranto. The need to convince myself that I was in charge of my own destiny and needed to take the initiative. To jump before I was pushed.
Yet how could I have imagined that something like this could ever happen? That he could suddenly appear like this, turning my life upside down, so that I no longer know what to do—or even who I am any more?
But it’s left me with only one certainty—that if I let him any closer to me, I’ll be lost forever, faced with a lifetime of regret. And I cannot afford that, especially when all he wants is a few hours’ entertainment. Because there can’t be any more to it than that and he has to know that. Has to.
And she went on lying silently there, only a few inches away from him, the ache of desire in her body fighting the turmoil in her mind. Knowing she would only have to stretch out a hand to touch him while reciting all the very real and cogent reasons to do no such thing.
Recalling another time when the urge to touch a man—to offer him her body—had almost overwhelmed her and reminding herself, too, of the unhappiness that would inevitably have followed if she’d given way. The shame she would have felt after revealing her innermost feelings and needs to someone whom she knew neither loved nor cared for her in the ways that mattered. The misery of discovering where his desires were truly centred.
Luca was the opposite of the husband she had left, but he was equally an enigma, his motives inexplicable. Which made him even more dangerous.
And the feelings he’d so effortlessly awoken in her—the longing to be touched as a woman, taken—would, in the end, lead only to disaster because there could be no lasting commitment from him either.
Caught up as she was in these mental struggles, she was suddenly jolted by the touch of his hand on her shoulder and rolled away from him with a gasp, remembering too late that her top was unfastened.
A wave of heated crimson swept up from her toes as she hastily covered her bare breasts with her hands, but Luca merely picked up her bikini bra and handed it to her without comment.
Once she was safely covered again, he said, glancing at the sky, ‘It is becoming hotter than ever, so I suggest we look for somewhere with shade to have lunch.’
She took a deep breath, words of polite but resolute denial forming in her head that would finally and inexorably convince him he was wasting his time, only to hear herself say huskily, ‘Yes—that seems a good idea.’
They chose a bar at the end of the promenade, sitting at a table under its striped awning to eat large prawns grilled on skewers accompanied by rice salad and fresh bread, and drink cold local beer. It was delicious, messy and relaxed in a way she wouldn’t have dreamed it could be.
And he talked to her—asking her tastes in music, books, and the theatre. Making her laugh with his frankly cynical comments about the political situation. Seeking her views on topics like the global economy and climate change. Avoiding the questions she knew she would have found impossible to answer.
At the same time, at every moment, she was aware of his eyes on her, sometimes smiling, sometimes searching, always brilliant in their intensity. Aware of the proud lines of his nose and cheekbones—and how that lord-of-creation look softened when his mouth curved in amusement. Found herself watching him as if mesmerised. As if to gaze forever would not be enough.
Felt the ache of forbidden necessity deep within her. The helpless, shameful thrust of her hardening nipples against the confines of her bikini.
And when the meal was over, the bill paid, and Luca stood up, saying softly, ‘Helen, mia carissima, I think it is time for a siesta,’ she went with him willingly, her hand clasped in his, back to Casa Bianca. Her retreat. Her own very private space, shared with no-one. Until this moment.
Her hand shook as she tried to fit the key in the lock, and Luca took it from her and opened the door, then picked her up in his arms and lifted her over the threshold as if she was a bride.
Too late now to listen to the voice in her head telling her to step back because this was all wrong—so very wrong. That there could be no future with this man who was offering her only the transient pleasure of the moment. And—most of all—that she didn’t do things like this—and never had. That there would be a price to be paid which she could not afford.
Then his lips took hers and the voice was silenced.
They were lying together on the bed, naked, in the warm golden light slanting across the bed from the shuttered window. The few clothes they’d been wearing had been tossed aside like leaves in a breeze as Luca had undressed her and then himself between kisses, his hands moving over her uncovered skin as if he was touching the delicate petals of a flower.
He pulled her closer, his kiss deepening as his tongue sought hers, thrusting into the sweetness of her mouth with sensual urgency, astonishing her with the swift glory of her response, her hands clasping his shoulders, twining round his neck, stroking his thick dark hair. Learning every smooth, supple line of him. Unable, it seemed, even in those first moments, to get enough of him as if a lifetime’s waiting was ending at last.
Knowing, too, that, whatever pain still waited for her, there could be no turning back.
His hands moved downwards, his fingers moulding the swell of her breasts, teasing the rosy peaks to lift to the voluptuous caress of his mouth, making the breath sigh from her parted lips as he suckled her gently.
She had not known until now that her entire body could sing to the slow, languorous glide of a man’s hands and lips exploring her. That there would be excitement to be discovered in the arch of her throat, the softness of her underarms and the inner hollow of her elbow. That his slow traverse of her spinal column would make her rear blindly against him, gasping, or that she would moan with pleasure as he cupped her small, firm buttocks and traced the slender line of her flanks.
But then no-one had touched her like this before, or whispered soft words of desire against the newly aw
akened eagerness of her untutored flesh.
Nor had she experienced the tip of a tongue seeking the whorls of her ear, or teeth nibbling gently at its lobe.
Her thighs had never parted, as they were doing now, welcoming the heated arousal of her lover’s erection pressed between them. She reached down to find him, her fingertips stroking the silken length of the engorged male shaft in a kind of wonderment, as she felt his whole body quiver in responsive delight, making her realise that her need was shared—equalled.
And that it was too late to remind herself that it was only a temporary delight. That there could be no future in this. None.
His fingers were moving on her too, gently, exquisitely igniting new sensations, as he sought her tiny hidden pinnacle, bringing it to aching, swollen, delicious life, making her whimper, wordlessly, pleadingly against his shoulder as her body lifted to the delicate torment of his caress.
She was instantly aware of his touch changing, intensifying, drawing her inexorably into some blind, mindless region of the senses. Holding her there on an unknown brink for a breathless eternity before releasing her into a throbbing, soaring agony of pleasure.
And her body was still shaking from the last lingering tremors of rapture when he lifted himself over her, entering her, filling her with total completeness, then sliding his hands under her hips and raising her towards him in a silent command to lock her legs round his waist.
As he began to move slowly and rhythmically inside her, Ellie found herself remembering another time, another place, another man.
Recalling the feelings, the instincts she’d so deliberately denied herself then, but allowing them free rein now because it was all so incredibly, indescribably different.
Letting herself mirror every strong, powerful thrust, answering his demands with her own, her entire being alive and enthralled by the unexpected potential of her awakened sexuality. Feeling her inner muscles close round him then release. Hearing him groan in husky satisfaction at her response—at this mutual and glorious attuning of their bodies. Clinging to his sweat-slicked shoulders, as her mouth drank from his with eager, entranced delight.