The Marriage Campaign (Harlequin Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

  The view out over the harbour was magnificent as the sun began to fade towards the horizon and the shadow of dusk cast a stealthy haze. Streetlights sprang into life, regulated pin-pricks of white light spreading out over suburbia as far as the eye could see. In the distance was the heat and the beat of the city, flashing neon, bright lights, action.

  Yet here it was peaceful, almost secluded, with high walls and cleverly planted shrubbery providing privacy from neighbouring properties.

  ‘Would you like to go indoors?’

  Francesca wiped her fingers on a serviette, then let her head rest back against the chair. ‘I don’t think I want to move.’ She sighed at the thought of checking in to the airport at six the next morning.

  A fashion parade at the Gold Coast Sheraton Mirage, followed by a photographic shoot, then cocktails with a public relations executive and his colleagues.

  Soon she had to fly to Europe for the designer collections. After which she intended secluding herself for a week of rest and relaxation. No phones, no contact whatsoever with the outside world. Where the resort staff were bound to secrecy and the guests paid a fortune for the privilege of total anonymity.

  A few weeks ago she’d been sure of her future and its direction. Now she was beginning to query what she really wanted.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Francesca turned her head slightly to look at him. ‘Please.’

  Dominic stood to his feet and moved indoors, and she followed, suddenly restless for something constructive to do.

  In the kitchen she watched as he filled the coffeemaker, added ground beans, opened cupboards, withdrew sugar, then set out cups and saucers on the servery counter.

  His hands were sure, their movements economical, and her eyes travelled, encompassing the muscular forearms exposed by the turned-back cuffs, the breadth of shoulder, the expanse of chest covered in cream chambray, up to that defined jaw, sensuous mouth, sculpted cheekbones. Those eyes, so dark, so steady as they met hers.

  The breath locked in her throat at what she saw there.

  Desire. Raw and primitive.

  Her pulse quickened to a thudding beat that was audible to her own ears. Visible, she felt sure, as her whole body began to reverberate with answering need.

  ‘Come here.’ The command was gently spoken, and she placed her fingers onto his outstretched palm and allowed herself to be pulled into his arms.

  His mouth was firm as it settled over her own, shaping, exploring the soft contours, then nibbling at the lower fullness.

  She felt his breath, warm and vaguely musky as he teased his tongue against her teeth, and she stifled a faint gasp as he began to invade the moist crevices, tasting, laving each ridge, each slight indentation, before creating a tantalising foray that deepened into total possession.

  One hand slid down her spine and cupped her bottom, lifting her close up against him so that she could be in no doubt of his arousal.

  She fitted as if she was meant to be there. His. All he had to do was convince her of that.

  He could feel her acceptance of now, but he sensed her indecision and knew that afterwards she would feel she’d betrayed her dead husband’s memory.

  Francesca’s hands clutched his forearms, then slipped up to his shoulders as his mouth left hers and trailed down to savour the fast-beating pulse at the base of her throat.

  Her neck arched, allowing him free access, and she groaned out loud as his lips travelled down to the valley between her breasts and lingered there, caressing the soft fullness with his tongue as he edged the material down to reveal one burgeoning peak.

  Dominic breathed in deeply as he tasted the wild honey that was her skin, and wanted more. Much more. He contented himself with the fact that a journey was made up of many steps. If he was to succeed, he’d have to exert patience and take one step at a time.

  She wanted to feel his skin, and her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, freeing each one, then,, not content, she pulled it free of his waistband.

  Dear God, he felt good. Tight-muscled midriff, taut chest, and a generous mat of dark hair that just begged to have her fingers curl into its length.

  His mouth closed over the roseate peak and he suckled shamelessly, nibbled, then caught the nipple between his teeth and took her to the edge between pleasure and pain.

  Her hand slid down over the fold of his zip-fastening, trailing the rigid length before seeking the tab and slowly releasing the nylon teeth.

  Fingers feathered over silk briefs to explore what lay beneath, and she felt a momentary sense of panic at the size and thickness of him.

  She needed gentle persuasion, reassurance, and above all he had to show her that this was more than just sex.

  ‘Dominic—’

  His mouth took possession of her own, cutting off her protest as he utilised every ounce of skill he possessed in showing her part of his heart.

  She was vaguely aware of being swept into his arms and carried up a flight of stairs to a bedroom.

  His, she decided dimly as he switched on a bedside lamp on a pedestal next to a large king-size bed. Slowly he let her slide down to her feet.

  Oh, God—what was she doing? ‘I don’t think—’ She halted as he took her face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  ‘Don’t think,’ Dominic bade against her lips. ‘Just feel.’

  I’m not sure I can give what you want. How would he react if she said those words aloud?

  His teeth nipped the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes.’ His tongue soothed hers and his hands gentled the agitated movements of her own. ‘You can.’

  He wanted her so badly, needed the advantage of joining his body with hers so that he could show her how much he cared. How right this was—for both of them.

  He kissed her deeply, gently coaxing in a manner that made every bone in her body turn to jelly. Dominic uttered the two words he hoped would make the difference. ‘Trust me.’

  Dared she? She didn’t have any choice as her body proved to be its own traitorous mistress by leaning in to his kiss, giving him access to her mouth so he could plunder at will.

  Her clothes, his, were quickly, easily dispensed with, and she stood almost breathless at his male beauty.

  Warm, sun-kissed skin sheathed strong muscle and sinew, defining superb musculature with a sculptor’s precision. Tight flanks curved down from a narrow waist, his stomach taut with an arrow of dark hair that led down to the juncture at his thighs, thickening in growth as it couched his manhood.

  He stood watching her appraisal, at ease with his nudity, and her eyes skimmed the potent thickness of his arousal, skittered to his chest, and came to rest at his chin.

  ‘Look at me.’

  I just have. She lifted her face fractionally and met his intense gaze.

  He reached for her, closing his hands over her arms as he slid them up to capture her shoulders.

  ‘Open your eyes, Francesca,’ Dominic bade her as his breath feathered her cheek. ‘I want you to see me. Only me.’

  He pulled her forward and lowered his head down towards the soft hollow at the edge of her neck.

  His mouth worked an evocative magic as he savoured each and every pleasure pulse until she quivered in his arms.

  Heat shimmered through every vein as she went up in flames, and he hadn’t even begun.

  Beautiful, he thought reverently. The faint edge of shyness appealed, even as it appalled him. She didn’t possess that fierce fervour of a woman well-versed in experiencing an explosive climax. Or of one who was fully aware of the pleasure her own body could give, not only to her partner but to herself.

  Slow, he determined. Slow and easy. They had the night.

  Francesca groaned softly as his fingers trailed low over her stomach, then tangled in the hair curling at the apex of her thighs.

  His mouth suckled at one breast, tormenting its peak into a turgid arousal, and just as she thought his touch unbearable he crossed to render a similar assault on its twin.

/>   Fire arrowed from the centre of her being, the flame licking through her body until she felt every nerve, every cell overheating as his skilled fingers probed the moist folds, and she cried out as he stroked the small nubbin, caressing until her whole body shuddered and she sank against him.

  A strangled gasp left her lips as he sank down onto his knees and traced the same path with his tongue, tasting the indentation of her navel before savouring the line of her hipbone.

  Teasing, tantalising, until he reached the soft hair guarding entrance to her womanhood.

  ‘Dominic—no—’ The cry was one of stark disbelief, but he ignored the tug of her hands as she took hold of his head.

  But it was too late, much too late as she began to experience the most intimate kiss of all. And as his tongue wrought havoc she went up in flames, unaware of the soft, guttural cries that emerged from her throat, the purring pleasure as he took her higher, or the subdued scream as he held her there before tipping her over the edge.

  Dear God, she was sweet. An intoxicating mix of honey and musk. He suckled her moisture, savouring it like a fine wine, and held her firm when she would have fallen.

  It was too much, Francesca thought dimly as she sought to retain a hold on her emotional sanity. Way too much. She wanted to beg him to stop, yet the words wouldn’t formulate, let alone escape from her throat.

  His lips began a slow path over her stomach, then travelled up to her breasts to caress each peak in turn, settled briefly on the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat, then took possession of her mouth.

  She could taste herself, then only him as he encouraged her tongue to participate in a duelling dance with his own.

  It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Total capitulation, complete possession, and she was hardly aware of the soft mattress beneath her back until he paused to extract a small foil package from the nearest pedestal drawer.

  Quick, deft movements, then his hands moulded her slight frame, caressed, then gentled as he prepared her to accept his length.

  She was slick with need, aching as she’d never ached for a man, and she gasped when her flesh stung slightly as he gained entrance. She could feel the expansion of muscles and tissue, the gradual acceptance as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

  Then he began to move, slowly, almost withdrawing before carefully plunging in again, angling his shaft slightly until he felt her muscles seize and grip him. Then, when she was ready, he gradually quickened his movements until she lifted her hips to take him even deeper.

  Francesca had thought it couldn’t get any better, but she was wrong. His oral onslaught had heightened her senses and stimulated desire to fever-pitch. Now he took her to a higher plane, where mind, body and soul reached perfect accord and transcended anything she’d ever experienced on a sensual level.

  So much for control. She had none. Nor did she want any, she decided dazedly as the spiral of sensation reached its zenith.

  Perhaps she cried out as he shuddered in the throes of his own climax, for his mouth settled over hers, soothing, gentling, as he held her close.

  For a while she didn’t move. Couldn’t. She felt warm, and wondrously lethargic. Later she’d feel the pull of unused muscles. But for now she was content just to lie here, and savour the tumultuous aftermath of passion.

  She lifted a hand and let her fingers drift down the column of his back, lingering at the indentations of his spine as she explored each vertebra until she reached the strong splay of pelvic bone.

  His buttocks flexed, and she felt him swell slightly inside her.

  ‘Uncomfortable?’ His voice sounded deep and faintly husky as he grazed the hollow at her neck.

  ‘No.’ She liked the closeness, the feel of his large body, the heat and the smell of it. ‘Do you want to...?’ She paused, suddenly hesitant, and she felt his mouth move to form a smile.

  ‘Disengage? Not particularly.’ He shifted his weight so that he rested the bulk of it on his elbows.

  He could tell from her expression, the slightly dazed look in her eyes, the soft pink tingeing her cheeks and the glow of her skin that she felt good. Lord, she excited him as few women had in the past. He wanted to take her again, to feel the tightness as she sheathed him and experience the way she moved beneath him.

  Yet perhaps not so soon. There was time to tease a little, to play.

  Francesca felt him shift slightly as his hands curled beneath her shoulders, then he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him.

  He lifted his hands and threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging most of the pins which held its length in what had once been an elegant French twist.

  ‘Hmm, that’s better.’ His smile was slightly crooked, his eyes deep and warm as he regarded the tumble of hair falling loose about her shoulders.

  He traced the outline of her mouth with his forefinger, then probed the ridge of her lower teeth.

  She bit him, not hard, but sufficiently firmly to see his pupils dilate. Then she suckled the tip of his finger, swirling it with her tongue, just once, before releasing it.

  So, the ball wasn’t entirely in his court after all, he mused.

  There was a certain degree of power in sitting astride a man. Francesca felt in control and wholly sexual, exulting in the flare of passion evident as she used her knees to exert a little leverage, then began rocking, ever so gently, watching as his eyes darkened.

  There was a faint line of sweat beading his upper lip, and she leaned forward and carefully removed it with her tongue.

  He let his hand slip to her breast, caressing its peak as he cupped the fullness of its twin. Beautiful and firm, the slopes were as smooth as satin to his touch.

  With care he urged one engorged peak into his mouth, laving its nipple into button-hardness, and heard her almost inaudible groan as sensation pooled deep within. He could feel her response in the faint tensing of internal muscles, and his own reaction in the burgeoning of his shaft.

  For what seemed hours, he had commanded her body, her senses. Now she wanted to tip the scales a little in her favour.

  And she did, tentatively at first, then as her confidence grew she took complete control, riding him as hard as she dared until he grasped hold of her hips and surged into her, again and again, lifting her as he arched his body higher and higher, so that his shoulders and his feet were the only parts of him anchored to the bed.

  Afterwards he cradled her close, caging her to him as he smoothed his lips across her sweat-drenched brow, his hands soothing her shuddering body until she lay limp and spent.

  She must have slept, for she remembered stirring a few times and being gently rocked in strong arms before slipping back into that blissful state that was neither true sleep nor part wakefulness.

  ‘I must go,’ she murmured, not once, but twice, only to succumb to the drift of his fingers, the persuasive touch of his mouth.

  ‘Dominic,’ she groaned in the early pre-dawn hours. ‘I have an early flight to catch.’

  He rolled out of bed and scooped her into his arms, then carried her, protesting, into the en suite shower.

  He bathed her, then swathed her slim form in a voluminous towel. ‘Why not come back to bed?’ He kissed her nose, then gently savoured that soft mouth. ‘To sleep. I promise.’ He brushed her lips with his own. ‘I’ll set the alarm and cook you breakfast.’

  It was tempting, oh, so tempting. ‘I really have to go home.’

  He dried her carefully, offered her a selection of toiletries, then watched as she quickly donned her clothes.

  What did she say to him? Thanks, it was great?

  Dominic saved her the trouble by placing a finger over her lips. ‘Take care.’

  There was a sense of unreality driving through almost empty streets. There were no stars, no moon. Just an eerie pre-dawn light lifting the greyness of night.

  Precisely what time was it? The illuminated clock on the dashboard revealed it was almost four. Two hours from now she n
eeded to front up at the airport check-in counter.

  Hardly enough time to snatch little more than even an hour’s sleep, she decided without a trace of weariness as she garaged the car and rode the lift up to her apartment. After the night’s activity, she should have been almost dead on her feet. Yet she felt strangely exhilarated, alive as she hadn’t been in the past three years.

  Inside, she brewed a cup of strong coffee and drank it black with sugar, then she checked her bags, added a few last-minute items, and made herself breakfast. Fresh juice, fruit, muesli, toast. And more strong coffee.

  Awake. And waiting wasn’t such a good idea, for it provided time for thought.

  Last night she’d slept with a man. A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat. Hell, sleep hadn’t even been a consideration!

  A complexity of emotions raced through her brain, clouding her perspective.

  This relationship—Oh, who was she kidding? She groaned out loud. What relationship?

  And what came next? Did she get to spend a night at his place, he at hers, escape for the occasional weekend together?

  Good sex without emotional involvement. Responsible. A slightly hysterical bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat at the thought of blood tests, prophylactic protection.

  Then she sobered as she became prone to introspection, and she succumbed to the inevitable feelings of guilt at having betrayed everything she held dear about Mario. The shared love, the laughter, her hopes and dreams, her fear for him. The stark replay of that fateful crash.

  But tears were for the weak, and she’d shed them long ago.

  With determined resolve she reset the answering machine, tidied the apartment, and at five-thirty she collected her bags, locked the door and rode the lift down to Reception, where a cab stood waiting to transport her to the airport.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE one-hour flight to the Gold Coast was uneventful, and a friendly hostess escorted Francesca into the terminal and introduced her to a waiting chauffeur, who collected her bag and saw her seated into the rear of a luxury limousine.

  There were some advantages in having acquired a degree of fame and recognition, Francesca acknowledged silently as she extracted sunglasses and slid them on.