“Because I want this to be special for us. I thought we should be in the most romantic place on earth.”
Fiona sighed happily and laid her face against his shoulder, breathing in the beloved scent of his skin through clean cotton.
“You’ve been here before, Chris?”
“Haven’t managed it, for some reason. Always wanted to visit. It’s a treasure I’ve been saving—and now I know why.”
He cupped her face up to his for a small sweet kiss.
“I suppose you’ve seen it dozens of times?” he asked, a rough edge of jealousy obvious in his voice.
“But never with you. And I’ve never stayed overnight on land here.”
He stroked her cheek, apparently satisfied.
The water taxi entered one of the canals. They travelled along close to the ancient walls of the palazzos and emerged into the glistening lagoon. The imposing church of Santa Maria della Salute was dead ahead, domes soaking up the sun and reflecting it back in ravishing golds and pinks.
“I can’t believe the lack of traffic,” Christian said, gazing around in fascination.
“Incredible, isn’t it? Nothing but boats. No cars, no buses. Just the water taxis and tourist gondolas and the vaporetto—which is their public transport—and all the other little boats.” She nestled closer to him. “Where are we staying?”
“A very discreet hotel, ideal for lovers.” He tightened his arm around her and kissed her hair—now tousled from the breeze as the boat plowed along.
It deposited them at the private pier of one of the ancient palazzos. From the tiled entrance lobby Christian led her up a magnificent marble stairway, past dramatic old paintings in ornate frames, and to a heavy timber door. He produced an old-fashioned black key and handed it to her with a flourish.
“Your key to paradise, I hope, Signorina?”
She smiled and slid it into the lock. When the door swung open, she gasped with pleasure.
The room was large, high ceilinged, and appeared to be furnished in a style that was centuries old, although a quick inspection of the attached bathroom and the generously-sized bed soon assured her it was luxury all the way. The walls glowed dusky copper, the ceiling was darkly timbered. Lavishly embroidered cream curtains danced at the open doors to their private balcony.
Christian pushed the fabric aside and beckoned her out into the sun. Together they leaned on the surround and watched the water traffic in the canal below.
“Another useful railing?” he suggested, raising a wicked eyebrow.
“We might end up in the water,” she countered, thinking back to the night they’d embraced so passionately on the cottage terrace. “And even in the wee small hours, far too public, I suspect.”
“Whereas,” Christian suggested, drawing her back into their room and pulling the doors closed, “this is both dry and private.” He settled her against him so their bodies notched together.
“We’re made to fit,” she whispered as his lips started a leisurely exploration of her face. He kissed her eyelids as they fluttered shut, progressed over her cheekbone, and then outlined the bow of her sensitive top lip with the tip of his tongue.
Fiona whimpered with pleasure. The endless frustrating months without him had all been worth it if this was her reward. She’d ached for the warmth of his kiss and the scent of his body and the sound of his voice. Their five-day affair had been incandescent. This extra night of love was a precious unexpected gift.
Her lips curved against his smile.
“I want to take you slowly,” he said in a husky whisper. “I want to turn you on so thoroughly you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”
I’ll remember you forever, Christian.
The butterfly brush of his mouth moved gently on her sensitized lips. She tried to increase the pressure but he drew fractionally away, teasing her with tiny nips and nibbles as he slid his hands to the waistband of her denim skirt and released the fastenings.
“Christian,” she breathed. “You’ll kill me. I’ve been waiting so long...”
And still he proceeded with the utmost restraint, holding her close as he worked her skirt down past her hips; not allowing her to hurry him.
In desperation her fingers grabbed for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling them out of the buttonholes so she could run her fingers—and then her lips—through the soft mesh of hair that covered his chest.
Christian groaned, cupped her face in both hands, and lifted it away from his flesh so he could dispense with his shirt. He toed off his shoes and turned aside to close the curtains. Fiona stepped out of her skirt and sandals. Dim seclusion shrouded them.
“You’ve been in the sun,” she said, enjoying his darkly tanned chest and shoulders as she backed toward the bed, eyes intent on his.
“It’s been a good hot summer. But so cold without you, Blondie. Take your top off for me. A sexy little striptease...?” One dark eyebrow winged up before he unzipped his jeans, pushed everything down, and kicked the bundle away. He stood there buck naked and beautiful, cock damn near vertical. Fiona’s mouth watered as she eyed the plump succulent tip. Her lips and tongue longed to close around it, and suck and slide until he surrendered. She grasped the hem of her T-shirt and began to peel it off, gathering the soft fabric up to reveal the flimsiest of bras.
“Very nice.” Hoarse and hopeful.
“Chosen specially...”
“Take it off.”
“You do it,” she challenged, tossing the T-shirt aside.
Christian bent his dark head to her breast and slid his tongue under the edge of the lace to her barely covered nipple as he reached for the hooks.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Christian...”
“My Blondie...” he murmured against her, easing the straps off her shoulders. “Hell—forget what I said about doing this slowly,” he added, tipping her backwards onto the big bed and dragging her tiny panties off as she wriggled and giggled beneath him.
Much later, they enjoyed the sumptuous bathroom, hands running over skin, soap sliding, mouths meeting as they embraced together under the hot cascade of the shower.
“Time to dress for dinner,” he finally said, turning off the water.
“Where are we eating?”
He smiled. “Right here in our room, Blondie. We have things to discuss. I want you all to myself.”
He enfolded her in a thick towel and began the enjoyable task of rubbing her dry.
“And I want you in this,” he added a few minutes later, reaching into the wardrobe and lifting out Marielle’s sexy red dress. “Be my scarlet woman? Just in private, for me?”
Fiona’s spirits dimmed a little. His scarlet woman? Was that what he had in mind? She turned away with the dress. No underwear was necessary for the role he’d assigned her.
Minutes later there came a discreet knock. Christian answered the door and ushered in two waiters with a wheeled serving trolley. With swift efficiency they plugged the trolley into a wall socket, laid a snowy cloth over an antique table, drew two chairs up to it, and produced plates and silverware from a credenza. With a final flourish, the waiters set out champagne flutes and an ice-bucket with a napkin-necked bottle.
They made little secret of admiring Fiona’s flamboyant skintight dress, accepted their proffered tip, and left.
“A tuxedo?” she gasped, only then registering what Christian wore.
He stood by the table, easing the cork from the champagne, magnificent in his formal clothes.
“You dressed for me. I dressed for you.” A faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I have something special to show you, Blondie. This is not an ordinary occasion.”
He poured the wine and lifted both glasses. Fiona stepped closer to take hers.
“To us—I hope.” His eyes darkened even further.
“To us then,” she repeated, unsure of her ground. She sipped and swallowed the heavenly liquid.
He reached into his inside breast pocket and drew out tw
o envelopes, glanced at the name written on each and handed one to Fiona. Jan’s distinctive handwriting snared her total attention and set her heart hammering.
“I finally cleared out the desk in her study,” he said as Fiona set her champagne aside.
“And she left this for me?”
The flap had been securely stuck down. Her fingers trembled as she prized it open.
She was so fearful of what the envelope might contain it took far too long to extract the single stiff sheet of paper inside. It crackled loudly in the silence as she unfolded it.
Very little was written there, and the shaky words were difficult to decipher.
Dearest Fiona,
Please read Christian’s. Brain still fine but body too weak now.
Best sister ever.
All my love,
Jan.
Fiona gave a huge sob of desolation. Jan had died almost four months earlier, but her loving presence suddenly surrounded them again.
She dropped the letter on the table and hurled herself against Christian, burying her face against his chest. She wept without restraint, not caring that her careful makeup smudged against his shirt, that her eyes grew red and raw.
His arms enfolded her and pulled her close. After the worst of her weeping subsided, she felt his warm hand stroking over and over down the long sweep of her back exposed by the glorious red dress. Slow soothing caresses, full of tender consolation.
A short time later, he leaned sideways and raised her letter.
“She was saying goodbye,” Fiona hiccupped, pulling away slightly and turning her ruined face up to his.
“And more than that,” Christian murmured. “She wants you to read mine as well.”
He continued to hold her close as he shook his own letter from its envelope and smoothed the two pages out, one handed. He held them so she could see.
Fiona read, and trembled, and gazed wet-eyed up at him.
As suddenly as that, her whole world changed.
The magic trolley held a selection of delicious Venetian specialties in its mini-fridge and warming drawer. It should have been the best dinner of her life, but the food took second place to the taste of Christian’s satiny skin and the musky fragrance of his body, and the sensation of his hands and lips roaming over her in a thousand kisses and caresses.
Next day she could remember with certainty only the huge out of season raspberries they’d dipped in sweet thick cream and hand-fed to each other in the tumbled bed.
Fiona woke to the pealing of bells. Sunshine slanted in between the embroidered curtains. She recalled how sometime after midnight they’d drawn them apart to make love with the Venetian moonlight spilling over the bed. Slow drugging love that chased doubts and uncertainties into the furthest shadows.
“Awake at last.” At the sound of Christian’s whisper, she smiled and turned toward him, stretching luxuriously. “Good morning, lovely man.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been watching me?”
“Not for long. Just a few minutes. I’ve been planning how we’ll spend our morning.”
“And?”
“You haven’t changed your mind?” he asked with sudden concern. “You’ll still marry me?”
Fiona reached up and touched his mouth.
“In the bright light of day, with no champagne and no amazing red dress, you still want me?” she teased.
Christian nipped her fingers.
“I love you. I want you. Always. Simple as that.”
“I love you back,” she declared. Then she dropped her voice to an embarrassed murmur. “And I loved you first. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but the instant I saw you I was jealous of Jan.”
She saw his eyes widen with surprise.
“And when you kissed me on the dance-floor...”
“When did I kiss you?”
“When we stopped dancing.”
He shook his head slightly.
“Just a little ‘hello’ kind of kiss,” she hastened to assure him. “But I fell for you a bit more then. And every time I saw you since, I fell harder.”
“How could I forget kissing you?” he demanded.
“Of course you would. You’d just married Jan. Like I said, it was only a ‘hello new sister’ kiss.”
“Hello,” he said, and bent lower. “New fiancée.” He took her mouth in a kiss that would have scandalized every guest at the wedding.
“New fiancée...” she murmured eventually. “I like the sound of that.”
“New wife sounds even better to me,” he said, reversing their positions and pillowing her head on his chest.
“As soon as my contract ends I’ll come home to you and Nicky. That’ll be seven months after Jan,” she added softly. “It feels like forever, but people will still talk.”
“People can yell for all I care. If they’re so narrow minded, they’re no friends of mine.”
“Or mine,” she agreed, turning her face to bite his dark nipple. She teased it with her tongue and felt the little peak rise up.
“Stop that—I’m trying to be serious here,” he protested. “This morning we’ll go shopping for an engagement ring—yes? An emerald to match your eyes?”
Fiona released his flesh with a small gasp of surprise.
“Chris, that mightn’t be so easy. We could wait until I get back to New Zealand?”
“All sorted, Blondie. The hotel manager assures me the arcades of Piazza San Marco have enough jewelry to kit out the entire A-list of Europe.”
“A engagement ring from Venice? Really?”
He found her other hand beneath the bedcovers and drew it out so he could kiss her palm.
She traced the pad of her thumb across his dark morning stubble.
“You have no idea how much I love you,” he added. “How you fascinate me. How I’ve had to try and stay away from you as the years went by.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he laid a finger on her lips to silence her.
“You must have known? Jan was the love of my life, the mother of my child, but you were the spark which ignited something else entirely. So yes—I stayed away from you.”
“Until the cottage.”
“Until the cottage,” he agreed. “And since then...”
“I know. Five days of paradise and then months of hell. And more to follow.”
“Not so much more. Two months? Unless you want to re-negotiate your contract? Are you sure you want to give up your jet-setting life? Your parents were speechless when I stopped in at Auckland and showed them my letter.”
Fiona’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She pushed herself up until she could gaze down at him.
“Fancy getting rid of their son-in-law and then finding they had him back again for another go!”
A sleepy smile played about his lips but his dark eyes still held questions.
“Christian darling,” she whispered. “I love you. I want to share your life and your daughter. Hopefully give you a son. I’d leave my beautiful boat for your collection of old cars any day.”
Epilogue
July
When Christian carried her through the front door of their cliff-top home, Fiona’s heart flipped.
“You’ve framed Jan’s letter! Chris—that’s too public.”
He set her down, but kept an arm around her waist.
“I’ve had it framed for Nicky. We’ll hang it in her room once she’s old enough to read it, but in the meantime it’ll stop a few tongues from wagging.”
Silently they read the loving words that had set the seal on their golden future together:
My darling Christian,
I can’t bear to say goodbye with your lovely eyes watching me.
You’ll find these letters when the time is right, and know that I love you totally. You know that anyway. You and Nicky have made me complete. I’m so happy to have had you both in my life.
Things are getting bad now, and I need to say this while I still can. I’ve had lots of time to just li
e here and think. I’m thinking about you and Fiona. You love her, I’m sure. You’ve been careful to stay away from her and not hurt me. Thank you for doing that. Your sense of honor is so strong.
I want to give you both my blessing. She’s my sister, my blood, my best friend. She would love Nicky as though she was her own. When I’m gone, you must build a new life. If Fiona is your choice, that will be perfect.
Show the people who need to see this.
Show Fiona.
All my love always,
Your Jan.
The End
I hope you enjoyed The Wrong Sister. If you’d like to find out more about my books you can sign up to my newsletter here or check out my website.
—Heartland—
Her Man with the Iceberg Eyes
Christmas Holiday Husband
—Wicked in Wellington—
The Boat Builder’s Bed
Resisting Nick
Seduction on the Cards
The Wrong Sister
Out of Bounds
Ravishing Rose
and
Their Wildest Dreams
Taken by the Sheikh
Five Short Romantic Reads
The Boat Builder’s Bed
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