by Sara Craven
But which might prove her salvation, she thought, recklessly downing her first glass.
‘Have a care, mia cara,’ Zac cautioned softly as she embarked on the second. ‘This is an exquisite vintage, not an anaesthetic.’
She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’ He paused. ‘I heard today there is another name to add to the guest list for the wedding. My cousin Serafina has decided to attend. As you know, she has a great fondness for Nicola.’
But not for me, thought Dana, replacing her glass carefully on the table. ‘Is she well enough for the journey?’
‘She is now walking with a stick and expects to be fully recovered by the wedding. Your aunt will, of course, be accompanying her,’ he added. ‘And their rooms should be adjacent, if that is possible.’
Dana looked down at the table. She said quietly, ‘I’ll see to it.’
It occurred to her that it could be an awkward reunion on both fronts, and she sighed inwardly.
‘Would you like coffee?’ Zac asked when the meal was over.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, just managing to stop herself saying, ‘It keeps me awake.’
He watched her meditatively. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. ‘Will you believe me if I tell you there is nothing to fear?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘How can I?’
Because what really frightens me is what might happen when you touch me. When you discover that seven years ago you taught me to want you in return. And that, heaven help me, I haven’t forgotten...
‘But it makes no difference,’ she went on, her voice husky, hurried. ‘We made a bargain, and I’ll keep my side of it. You—you can do what you want and I won’t stop you.’
‘Carissima.’ His voice was oddly gentle. Even coaxing. ‘I have had more enticing offers.’
‘And will again, I’m sure,’ she said stonily, as pain, swift and surprising, lanced through her. ‘But not from me. Never from me. Whatever you said earlier, you—you can’t really expect that.’
‘I anticipated I would need patience,’ he said. ‘It seems I was right.’
He pushed back his chair. ‘I, however, will have coffee and then complete some work for my trip. I will join you in three-quarters of an hour. Is that acceptable?’
She seemed suddenly unable to frame the word ‘Yes’ so she merely nodded as she rose from the table.
Leaving the room, she seemed to feel his gaze following her—touching her like a hand on her shoulder as she climbed the stairs to the room and the bed she was about to share with him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE BED HAD been turned down, she saw, and one of her new nightgowns, a demure white lawn affair, had been arranged on the coverlet.
She ran herself a warm bath, testing the array of expensive toiletries awaiting her, and eventually scenting the water with rose geranium.
When she was dry, she slipped the nightgown over her head and went back to the bedroom, sitting at the dressing table to brush her hair.
As she put the brush down, she heard his dressing room door open and rose, turning to face him, her hands clenched at her sides, her body, in its opaque veiling unyielding as a statue and as still.
Zac halted and, for a long moment, they stared at each other across the room.
Then, with a harsh sigh, he walked across to the bed, discarding the white towelling robe which proved to be his only garment, offering her an unwanted reminder of how magnificent he looked naked, and slid under the covers.
‘If you wish to stand there all night, like some virgin martyr at the stake, that is your choice,’ he said. ‘I, however, intend to get some sleep.’
He turned on to his side, presenting her this time with an inimical view of his back, as he rearranged his pillows and extinguished the lamp on his night table.
At first Dana stayed where she was, torn by confusion as she gazed down at the floor, waiting for the blush that had consumed every inch of her skin to subside and her heartbeat to return to something like normality.
But eventually she decided that maintaining her present stance was simply making her look ridiculous, so she reluctantly crossed the room, switched off her own lamp and climbed into bed, lying tensely on her back as far away from Zac as it was possible to get without ending up on the floor, and staring at the ceiling while she waited, with a mixture of longing and dread, for him to reach for her.
But as the minutes passed and began to stretch out into something like eternity, she realised, astonished, that it wasn’t going to happen. That his deep, steady breathing was telling her he’d meant what he said about sleeping, and slowly she began to relax, letting herself sink down into the welcoming comfort of the mattress as her flurried anxious breathing steadied.
Realising too that, in a bed this size, it was quite easy to pretend that she was alone.
And that alone was the safest thing to be.
Tomorrow he’ll be gone, she thought, suppressing the swift pang twisting sharply inside her. Gone for several weeks, which gives me time to find some way—some strategy to deal with this half-life I’ve signed up to.
And Zac had done exactly the same, she reminded herself. Maybe he also was regretting his decision. Perhaps this was why he was keeping his distance, so that he didn’t turn a mistake into a total disaster.
If—if they didn’t have sex, she was almost sure they could get an annulment very quickly, whereas there had to be a statutory period before divorce was permitted.
Maybe the marriage could be quietly ended before its existence became public.
She stirred restlessly, then froze, wary of disturbing him.
Oh, God, what a mess it all was. What a ghastly mess—reaching back to the warm darkness of the summer house all those years ago. To the silent, deceptive magic of his kisses—his touch.
She remembered the friction of his frilled shirt against her bare skin and, lifting her hands to her breasts, she felt the swift hardening of her nipples through the thin fabric that now covered them.
Imagined herself somehow back in that long-ago summer night, but this time unfastening his shirt, fumbling with his waistband and zip as she stripped him in turn. As she touched him everywhere, learning him with her fingertips. Feeling that lithe male body vibrantly, awesomely alive under her seeking hands. His flesh warm under her mouth...
Of course, she’d been too shy, too inexperienced to attempt any such intimacies. And, in so many ways, she hadn’t changed. These were still uncharted waters for her.
That night had been like a claw scraping across her senses for seven years, she thought, pressing her clenched fist against her lips. But that had to end now. She could not let herself think about it any more, because if she did, she would be lost.
I won’t be able to hide what I feel, she thought. What I want. It’s bad enough just being here with him, knowing I would only have to stretch out a hand...
Instead, she put her hand to better use, biting almost savagely at her knuckles. Driving out one pain with another. Except any damage to her skin would heal. The ache inside her could not be so easily assuaged.
Yet how could she willingly surrender herself to a man who’d virtually bought her for sex, and wouldn’t care that, with her body, she would give her heart and soul? On the contrary, he was quite cynical enough to find that amusing.
Far better—infinitely safer—to resist the dark temptation he offered and remember that she was fulfilling nothing more than a clause in a contract. Oh, God—nothing more.
She hadn’t forgotten Adam’s sneering claim that, once a woman belonged to him, Zac became bored and walked away.
And it was hardly likely that a brief legal ceremony would render the future of their marriage any less bleak.
A swift annulmen
t or polite indifference, she thought unhappily. The proverbial rock and the hard place.
Don’t go there, she adjured herself almost frantically. If you can’t sleep, be practical instead. Think about the rooms that need a transformation. Stand in each of them. Visualise paint, paper and fabrics. Work out a time scale.
Instead she found herself in a long corridor, empty, windowless, its walls and floor painted as white as the ceiling and she began to run towards a door at the far end, desperately searching for colour, for some sign of life, only to have the door slam in her face. And she sank to the floor, closing her eyes against the dazzle of the whiteness.
When she opened them again a moment later, she realised she was not on a wooden floor but in bed, the room bathed in the half-light of early morning.
And made the far more disturbing discovery that somehow in the night she’d moved across the bed to where Zac was lying, and was now held in the curve of his arm, his hand lightly clasping her hip, and her head pillowed on his chest.
How in the world had it happened? she wondered, her throat tightening. But she could worry about that later.
Her immediate need was to extricate herself and move back to the safety zone before Zac woke and jumped to any conclusions.
Biting her lip, she managed, slowly and carefully, to remove his hand from her hip, but as she began to edge away across the bed, Zac stirred, murmuring something unintelligible and, an instant later, he opened his eyes and looked at her, propping himself on an elbow.
There was a tingling pause, then he said softly, ‘Buongiorno.’
Dana stared straight ahead of her. ‘I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘I believe you,’ he said, a note of faint amusement in his voice. ‘And there is no need to apologise. I promise you I welcome the disturbance.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She could hear herself beginning to babble. ‘You—you have a plane to catch, and I have a lot to do as well. I probably need to make an early start too.’
He said quite gently, ‘That, mia cara, is not what I mean, as I think you know.’ And, before she could think of an excuse or a protest, he reached out, drawing her gently but inexorably back towards his warm nakedness.
He paused for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable as he studied her. Then he lifted a hand, stroking back the hair from her flushed, startled face before running a fingertip down the curve of her cheek and brushing her parted lips.
Light as it was, she seemed to feel his touch reaching down into the marrow of her bones. Discovered it echoing in her pulses and lifting the fine hairs on her skin. Felt it stir, deep within her, in an ache of remembered longing.
And with it came fear—not of him, but herself and all that she so desperately needed to keep secret.
From somewhere, she found a voice. ‘Please—could we—can’t this wait—until after your trip, perhaps? Give me some time to get used to—everything?’
‘You don’t think, maybe, that seven years is long enough?’ The faintly quizzical note in his tone did not deceive her. He was making his intentions clear—telling her that the waiting was over. For good. And for both of them.
He reached out and threw back the covers, making her instantly thankful for the modesty of her nightgown. He, of course, she realised, staring at his chest as if mesmerised, had no such reservations.
And felt herself tense like a coiled spring as she waited for Zac to kiss her—and for all that would inevitably follow.
Closed her eyes, scared of what she might see in his dark face. Triumph, she thought, swallowing. Lust turning to cold determination. Unbearable things.
So she was startled by the gentleness of his mouth as it touched hers, as it moved on the softness of her lips, exploring the delicate contours as if they were the petals of a flower that he did not wish to bruise.
Suddenly the years slipped away and she was seventeen again, her innocent flesh responding in astonished delight to the caresses of her unseen midnight lover.
Now she realised her whole body was reawakening, not just to the shock of sensual pleasure but to the promise of more as one trembling thrill built upon another, winding her in a web of sweetness. Creating a need that threatened to become a necessity as, once again, she lay in the arms of the man she loved...
So much so that her lips were already parting to his insistence, permitting—even welcoming the silken, sensuous provocation of his tongue gliding against her own.
At the same time, his hands were making a slow journey down the entire length of her body, touching her softly, caressingly through the thin material of her nightgown, as if he was committing to memory every curve, every angle, every plane, his fingers returning at last to linger on the swell of her breasts.
He slid the narrow strap of her nightgown from her shoulder, baring one small delicate mound and cupping it in his palm, his thumb teasing the nipple, rousing it to aching pleasure, as his kiss deepened. Beckoned.
But when he pushed down the other strap with the clear intention of uncovering her completely, Dana’s faltering reason intervened.
‘No—please.’ She pushed him away, snatching at the slipping fabric. ‘I—I can’t...’
‘You said you would not resist,’ he reminded her quietly.
‘Yes—but you don’t know what this is like for me. How impossible. I—I’m just not ready.’
Not brave enough to endure. Not strong enough to pretend...
‘But will you be any more prepared to surrender in a week—two weeks—a month?’ Zac shook his head. ‘I doubt it, mia cara.’
He paused. ‘So, let us make a deal.’
‘Another one?’ Her voice shook. ‘Isn’t the first one problem enough?’
‘A different one,’ he said. ‘And perhaps simpler.’
His gaze searched hers. ‘If you will try to trust me, mia bella,’ he whispered, ‘I will try to be patient. That is—until you tell me it is no longer necessary. Do you agree?’
For a moment, she was silent, then, knowing how unbearable any alternative might be, and knowing too that it was not him she could not trust, but herself, she gave a small, jerky nod.
There was another, longer pause and she thought she heard him sigh quietly, then he bent, kissing her forehead and her eyes before his lips found hers again, brushing them gently.
His hand touched her hair, following its silken fall, then moved to the slender curve of her shoulder, smoothing the delicate bone structure and stroking her skin as if he was calming a small, scared animal.
She wanted to resent it, but she couldn’t—not when she could feel the tension—the fear—ebbing away—changing under the sheer alchemy of his touch. When, if she was honest, she felt more like nestling closer to him, and purring. While somewhere, deep within her, she felt warm tendrils of excitement growing—spreading.
Zac slid his hands down her arms, spreading them wide, his lips exploring the hollow of an armpit, tracing the blue veins in the bend of her elbow, and the underside of her wrist where her pulse was racing, his fingers linking with hers, holding them as his mouth moved back to her throat, measuring its slender length in a trail of tiny kisses that lighted their own slow fire.
She bit back a little moan as sharp quivers of pleasure lanced through her entire being. Too sharp, she thought, too pleasurable but impossible to evade, even if she wished to do so, when his hands were still clasping hers at her sides, pressing them down into the mattress. Rendering her virtually helpless.
Dana felt herself sinking down into the bed, her breath quickening as his lips continued downwards until they reached the little valley between her breasts where he lingered for an endless moment, his cheek against the scented fullness he had uncovered.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he released her hands, but only so that his own fingers could drift teasingly acros
s her hip bones, her belly, and upwards to her breasts, brushing their creamy swell with his palms while his fingertips, with infinite precision, circled her nipples, already engorged and aching for his touch. An erotic torment he seemed inclined to prolong endlessly.
This time, Dana could not suppress her whimper of longing—of desire as heat flared inside her, fierce and irresistible, forcing her to arch towards him.
‘Si, carissima.’ His voice was a husky whisper, his words a promise. He paid sensuous homage to the sweetness of her parted lips with the tip of his tongue, then bent to her breasts, cupping them, raising them to his mouth for unhurried adoration before taking one erect rosy peak between his lips and suckling it gently, making her body writhe in delicious agony as each stroke of his tongue sent the tide of arousal surging through her entire being.
He slid a hand down the length of her body, his warm tantalising fingers reaching under the rucked-up hem of her nightgown to caress her thigh, so desperately near to the hot, moist centre of her where she craved him, but not near enough.
Her body was in ferment with the frustration of pleasure withheld, melting, scalding with the need to know and be known. A harsh sob rising in her throat, she took his hand and carried it to the joining of her thighs as they slackened and parted to receive him for the first intimate exploration her body had ever experienced.
His touch was light but exquisitely, terrifyingly precise, gliding between the delicate folds of woman flesh to find the tiny sensitive nub they protected and caressing it slowly and rhythmically, coaxing it to become erect under the subtle, enticing play of his fingers. Dana heard her breathing change as her entire conscious being seemed to turn inward upon itself, concentrating blindly on sensations she had not realised could exist or that her starved body would ever feel.
Zac’s hand moved fractionally, traversing the slick wetness he’d created to allow his fingers to reach and gently penetrate the entrance to her vagina, pushing into her, then withdrawing. Inciting, then withholding. While, all the time, the ball of his thumb was continuing, intensifying its erotic stimulation of her tiny, swollen bud.