Her Irresistible Guardian

by Lisa Torquay

  The front door opened and a familiar face came in. Torres. Damn it! It was all he needed: someone to witness his misery.

  Juan sat beside him with his pint, of which he drank a long draught. Both men were getting along fairly well at work. They agreed on how to foster the company’s own technology and it seemed to be the right direction. But this was all. They shared no personal affinities.

  Several minutes elapsed.

  “So,” Juan started and there was a sarcastic smile on his face. “You’re no longer, with your, say, very special ex-charge.” He used a tone that left no doubt as to the implicit meaning of it.

  Mark turned to him abruptly, and instant potent fury spreading in his blood. “Don’t you ever repeat this nonsense ever again.” Mark said in a low menacing voice.

  Juan chose to ignore the red light, the beer working its effect. “What would you call it then?”

  Mark deflected his gaze from Torres and dipped it in his glass. There was no name. Why call it anything after all? It didn’t matter, not anymore. “I’d advise you not to nose around.” His fury getting hotter.

  “Well, this is the gossip that’s going on since she left.” Juan drank more of his beer.

  Mark turned his gaze at him, angry. “I’m warning you, Torres!”

  “You should be grateful for having someone to get information from.” Juan didn’t know more than the gossips, but people sensed things.

  “I don’t want any! I don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

  “Have you stopped to think clearly about this?”

  Mark had thought too much about it, about her. He just glared Juan in the eyes.

  “She’s only too precious!” Juan let out.

  This was the last drop for Mark. Precious? She was everything! And she was his. Or at least he had that illusion. Wish, if one preferred. He didn’t want to cause a scene. Juan was going much too far. The wound was too fresh still. Gathering his shattered self-control, Mark stood up, looked hard at Juan and left the pub in stony strides into the wintry street.

  Chapter XII

  It had been a busy time, Amy thought as she stared through the window of her small rented house in the old town. Down there, the deep-blue Mediterranean. She came to like Nice a great deal. The mild weather of South France did a lot for her.

  After she had left the Georgian mansion, she walked aimlessly along the streets of London, too sad to care where she was going. At a train station, she bought a ticket, without even asking its destination. She just sat in the train, bloated mind, and eyes travelling on the passing view. Suddenly, she had arrived in France. But she had wanted to continue sitting and staring. Another ticket, another train and Nice came within reach.

  As she crumbled on the hotel bed, her eyes started pouring out, on their own will. It had been a deep need to wash down all the welled emotions. It made her feel better. But not cured. She doubted she’d ever be.

  She missed Mark. With an aching intensity. She felt hurt. So hurt. These conflicting emotions kept overturning in her. She knew she should get busy. And she did. In more ways than one.

  There was an extensive hotel industry in Nice. Amy started her own HR consultancy and had already a couple clients among those hotels. More were coming. She was in negotiation with the biggest one in the area and very excited about it. She praised herself for choosing French while in secondary school.

  She immersed herself in extremely hard work during the day. The nights were a bitter story, though. A corroding longing monopolized her entirely. She couldn’t stop remembering, desiring. She had only to close her eyes and the feel of Mark came back setting her skin ablaze. She could never get rid of the feel of their love-making. Looking back at it, she remembered how it drained her body and soul. She felt all her heart in it. And it hit her why. Because it was her heart in it. Her surrender had been expression of love. That was the reason why she had such a maddening sense of fulfilment in each of those countless scorching nights. Her body had expressed her innermost emotions, those which had been there for longer than she cared to measure. Now she had to forget him. The question was: how?

  It was Friday late afternoon. An early spring sun shone, much warmer than it’d be in London. Dressing a tank top and small shorts, her body was stretched on the chaise-longue in the garden. Her cinnamon silky curls spread over the back. Weekends were a difficult task. With no work and all that free time her mind drifted away to memories best avoided.

  At sunset, the bell rang and she stood up lazily wondering who it might be, since she wasn’t expecting anyone. As she opened the door, her heart nearly stopped. Mark was there occupying the most of the door-frame.

  The view of him deflagrated a bomb-shell of emotions splintering arousal, longing and sorrow at the totality of her cells. He stood there leaning one shoulder on the frame, folded strong arms, one leg crossed over the other. It seemed impossible but he seemed even more magnificent than she remembered. He was dressing a white tailored shirt without a tie, two buttons open and black trousers. She looked up at him for long seconds trying to figure out how he found her.

  “I was at the management training in Mallorca when the detective called me to say where you were.” Mark’s feline eyes strolled over her revealing tank top, half covering her full breasts and her tiny shorts showing her long beautiful legs. His body reacted straight away to her.

  Amy’s eyes were wide on him. “I see.”

  “So I flew here in my private jet at once.” Only then did she see a backpack at his feet. “No welcoming for me, I infer.”

  Still dumfounded, she stepped from the door and made way from him. He entered looking around appreciatively. “You have always had good taste for decoration, as the Georgian mansion well witnessed.” He said as he turned to her at the door and threw his backpack casually on the sofa.

  She closed the door in slow absent movements without taking her attention from him. She walked into the sitting-room and their stares debated subjects no words could ever translate. His temptation stare intent on hers.

  When the detective called him, an urgent haste dominated him. He had to see her. Immediately. It didn’t matter how she’d receive him. It didn’t matter it was wrong to hide her money from her. It didn’t matter the bloody seminar. He had just called his crew and jumped upon the plane, on a lame excuse to Travis and Susan.

  Amy motioned for him to sit. “Coffee?”

  He hadn’t come there for coffee, for god’s sake! To hell with small talk! “Yes, thanks.” He tried to imprint a polite tone to his reluctant voice. His glance followed her to the kitchen, observing her pert back side and it reverberated directly in his lower abdomen.

  Amy took refuge in the small kitchen, making an almost failing attempt to get hold of herself. Her body was deaf to her command; it had a life of its own when it came to Mark. Her breath was irregular and her breasts were telling the whole story. She took a sweat set from the dryer and fumbled in over herself. It was wrinkled, but it’d have to do. As she walked to the sitting-room with a tray with coffee and cups, she avoided his dangerously tempting figure.

  “You found me, so what?” She sat the farthest from him after she’d served his cup.

  He looked at her as if it was the most obvious answer in the universe. “Take you home, where you belong, of course.”

  She grimaced at his arrogance. “This is my home now. I have business to attend here.” She had business elsewhere too, but this information he’d not get from her.

  His eyebrows arched in ironic surprise. “Investing your capital, I can see.”

  She straightened her spine even more and her eyes narrowed. “A money that could have seen me through college without useless ‘agreements’!”

  There wasn’t a flicker of shame in his countenance. “True enough. But were you mature for such?” He felt ashamed, yes. But he didn’t want her to see it. He had known he had to come clean about her situation long ago.

  “It was up to me to decide, don’t you think so?”
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  He opened his arms nonchalantly on the back of the sofa and his predator’s focus challenged her in so provocative a way that she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to shove him away of near her. “Tell me you regret it.” The ‘it’ was pronounced in a densely suggestive way; leaving no doubt he referred to their scorching moments.

  His words evoked a whole bulk of memories that melted the very core of her. Regret? Goodness Gracious! No! The concept was alien to their story. To her. The sight of him now, arms stretched making his shirt glue to his broad muscular chest and six-packed belly brought to her mind a single word: more. It’d never be enough, would it?

  Mark saw her blushing and didn’t need any other hint as to what went on in her head, which was a xerography of his own. And he couldn’t do anything about the very visible effects of his thoughts. As her eyes slid down his magnificent male body, they widened at that particular spot and the whole thing worsened.

  Amy’s breath got caught in her throat as her body operated an entire network of reactions. She had to say something, anything, to dissipate that steamy cloud so heavy with meaning. “Alright, you have checked on me and may go back to your seminar.” She made it sound like an order, as she knew he disliked.

  His eyes narrowed for a second, but the expression vanish and he fought for control over all the conflicting emotions running under his skin. “I expected you to invite me to overnight here, actually.” His voice was too velvety. “My crew need rest, you know.”

  “Ha! Like hell he would! She thought. His presence would be unbearably disquieting, to say the least.

  Mark was suspended in uncertainty. She could send him to one of the numerous hotels in the city, some of them her clients, for sure. He didn’t want to lose sight of her though. Now that he had finally found her.

  But then her sensible self came to the fore. His crew couldn’t fly today and she had a spare room. If anything, she could go to one of her client-hotels. “The guest-room is to the left.”

  He disguised his sigh of relief standing up to take his bag.

  For dinner she suggested the noisiest and most crowded restaurant in Nice, where there would be no chance for intimacy. After that they sat at an open-air crowded bar in the Promenade des Anglais. They chatted about news from his company and the people she knew. He never mentioned Juan, naturally.

  “Mrs Smith was very sad when I told her you had left.” Mark said at one point.

  “A pity I couldn’t confide in her, she’d have informed you.” Amy’s eyes wandered to the sea. She had missed the dear middle-aged woman a lot and thought about writing to her but didn’t want to reveal her address. Memories from the Georgian mansion came to her mind, making her feel nostalgic. It was the only place she called home. She had to move on though and leave the memories for her idle hours.

  It was almost mid-night when they came to her house in the old town. Murmuring a brief good-night, she strode swiftly to her room and closed the door. She dressed one of her short night-gowns with a deep, V-shaped low neck and lay down. If only she found the oblivion of sleep. But her eyes refused to shut. She regretted having allowed him to overnight there. His presence stirred every nerve of her tired body. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours she decided to go get a glass of water.

  She took the glass to the dark sitting-room and glanced at the illuminated city outside. The lights outside eased the penumbra in the room suavely. She finished her water and rested it on the table beside the sofa.

  “You seem to like it here.” Mark’s deep grave voice sounded behind her.

  She startled and turned abruptly at him. And she wished she hadn’t. He was wearing only shorts, leaving nearly nothing of his Adonis body to imagination. The dim light showed the trail of silky hair that went from his broad chest to that hidden place she remembered only too well. His long muscular legs were apart, his hands on his waist. He stared at her with his inducing seductive stare angled in that manly way she recognised only too well. Her body responded with indecent eagerness.

  Mark had been standing there for a minute or two. He heard her steps in the hallway, as he couldn’t sleep, naturally. And he followed her. The effect of her irresistible short gowned lush body on him was utterly disturbing. Need, memories and desire cut through him.

  “I-I just came for a glass of water.” She babbled and started pacing towards her room, but he stood in the way. She neared him, expecting him to give way. He never moved. She lifted her wide honey eyes to him, full lips parted.

  This was the last drop for Mark. The leftovers of his damaged self-control crumbled. One of his strong arms circled her tight around her waist, covered by that thin satin fabric. He pulled her hard against his muscular body and heard her suck the air as her hands came to his thick biceps. His other hand entangled in her cinnamon silky long curls pulling her head back, subduing her. Mesmerizing her. His mouth came over hers as a bird of prey in a plundering kiss.

  A rocket of fire cut through Amy’s body, melting every nook and corner of it. She became sluggish as her entire body moulded to his. His solid body. Solid. In so many tempting places. Through the thin satin fabric of her short camisole she could feel every taut muscle of him. All thoughts of resisting him vanished. His demanding kiss erased the world outside. His tongue fooled around hers and she opened more for his tantalizing exploration. She rose on the tip of her toes to get more of him. His both strong arms were circling her waist now and hers surrounded his neck. His tongue sought hers thirsty, extracting a moan from her throat.

  Her legs became like jelly and gave way. Mark held her and both lowered, kissing, to the fluffy carpet. Carefully he lay her there, holding her tight. Her gown had rolled up to the top of her thighs. As Mark lay down over her, his hands explored the smooth skin of her thighs and buttocks.

  “Amy.” He murmured as his thin sensuous lips grazed the delicate skin of her neck, burning it, inch by inch.

  “Torture!” He nibbled her shoulder. “These last months without you were pure torture.” He muttered in his deep hoarse voice.

  Amy gasped and sank more and more in the haze of desire he triggered in her. When his open mouth rested on the base of her neck sucking it, her body arched seeking him and her legs entangled on him.

  Mark was lost for reality. The feel of her was only too overwhelming. His hand came up to the top of her satin night-gown, removing it from her full breasts as his fingers squeezed her pebbled nipple.

  Her head fell back and her hunger for him rose sky-high. But then his mouth substituted his fingers deepening her hunger. Her fingers merged in his silky dark hair, wanting to keep him there forever. He licked and he sucked and he nibbled, without any compassion for her unbearable delight.

  “Amy.” He whispered in total bliss.

  Starvation. There was no other word for him. And he devoured her breast as it was the last day of his life. His naughty right hand strolled down her narrow waist, her round hips, inside her thighs, until it dived in her core, finding her eager, ready. She opened more for him and his fingers teased her, making her desperate for him. She was teased to breaking point. He lowered his shorts showing off his hard-as-a-rock notable member.

  Her body undulated in needy search of him. He embraced her with his both arms. Dear God! How she had missed it! When he filled her with himself it felt as rendition. Recognition. Their bodies recognized each other in every cell.

  He was not going to make it, he feared, as passion drove him further and further. His head bent down and he buried it in the curve of her neck, fighting for a control that seemed to be slipping out of him by the second. But she was arching her body for him. She was moving her hips, seeking the same release as him. He felt her squeeze him and he was nearly done.

  Amy felt Mark moving in her and ever hotter waves of pleasure emanated from her centre throwing her in deeper, darker waters. She held his muscular body so tight that her arms ached. She stretched her legs wider apart to take more of him, to take all. The darkness covered her
in countless contractions as moans escaped her lips and her head fell sharply back.

  Mark dived more and more in her, panting on her neck. An intense river of pleasure ran through him, draining him of all he had. Draining his soul of all his longing.

  “Amy!” He grunted in total decontrol and his body relaxed on hers.

  They remained like this for a long time, captivated in each other. Peace and calm came down on them. At last, Mark rose and took her in his arms. He walked to her bedroom and laid her carefully on her bed, lying beside her and snuggling her close. Invigorating sleep spread its diaphanous veil over them.

  Chapter XIII

  Saturday morning poured a spring sun through the curtains finding Mark and Amy entwined bodies in wrinkled bed-sheets. Mark had sought Amy in the night, incapable of keeping his hands, among other parts, from her. No wonder he was starving, he thought, as he opened his eyes to the bright day. Amy still slept in his arms. He merged his face in her hair and inhaled its flowery scent.

  Amy tossed slightly and opened her eyes a little. She yawned and stretched in his arms, rubbing her lush body on his and tempting him. Then she sighed and closed her eyes again. Only Mark could bring her this sense of relaxation after a night of love, she thought in her sleepiness. His lovemaking was such a hurricane, though. He had turned her red-hot through the night filling her with satisfaction.

  “Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” He spoke in her ear and nibbled it. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She groaned lazily and sat up.

  And the sheet fell from her body. And Mark looked at her with those remarkable eyes. Her stare met his. Desire.

  “Oh, my God!” Mark moaned as he hauled her back to bed.