And then they were alone.
He rose from the table and extended a hand.
It was not too late. She could still change her mind. Change her mind and likely regret it for the rest of her life.
Her heart hammering with delicious anticipation, she took his hand and allowed him to help her stand onto the same feet that seemed to float up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom.
As her own bedroom was so glorious, she had always wondered about his room. Now that she was in it, she no longer cared.
They were there together, one last night to remember for the rest of her life.
He closed the door and immediately they were in each other’s arms.
She had no recollection of who made the first move. All that mattered was being in his arms again and being kissed with such passion and hunger her whole being turned into noodles.
“What are you doing to me, woman?” He broke away and clasped her chin in his hands, his black eyes intense.
“The same that you’re doing to me,” she said, tightening her hold on his neck.
He brought his nose to hers, his breathing ragged. “But I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” No one else had even come close.
“You are a temptress.” With that, he swept her up in his arms and carried her through an arched doorway into an adjoining room dominated by the largest bed she had ever seen. Yet she barely noticed it. The feel of his strong arms cocooning her was the nearest thing to heaven she had ever known.
He laid her down gently, running a hand through her hair, smiling as she quivered at his touch.
She reached out for him, her hands snaking round the nape of his neck, hungry for his kisses. He stopped her, placing a finger to her lips.
The intensity of his stare trapped her, a gamut of emotions glistening. Lust and something else, something deeper, pulled her to him.
“Kiss me.”
He shook his head. Lying down next to her, he leaned on an elbow and trailed a finger down her cheek. “This time I want to make love to you properly.”
His words made her heart sing and sent a rush of blood hurtling through her brain, dizzying her. His finger slipped down her neck, her collarbone, over the cotton material circling her puckered nipple.
From her throat escaped a whimper she was helpless to contain. And why should she? He knew how badly she wanted him.
He caught her wrists and pulled her arms over her head so her hands were resting by the wrought-iron headboard.
For a moment they did nothing but gaze at each other until he shifted away. For one heart-stopping second she feared he was going to leave her there.
In silent appreciation she watched as he lifted his t-shirt, pulled it over his head, and flung it to the floor. Not taking his eyes off her face, he unbuttoned his shorts and, along with his undershorts, tugged them past his muscular thighs, letting them fall to his ankles.
Moisture filled her mouth. She gazed at the magnificence of his hard body and the jutting erection aimed in her direction.
Naked, he walked back to the bed and sat next to her before tenderly lifting the ball of her foot.
It started with the brushing of feather-light fingers over her skin. He dropped tender kisses from the tips of her toes and up to her ankles, grazing up her calves to her knees, his lips searching higher until they found the sensitized area of her thighs. The closer he got to the core of her femininity, the more she writhed beneath him, her other foot unconsciously rubbing backward and forward on the mattress. Sensation was everywhere, her entire body reduced to lava, melting at his touch.
When she felt a finger dip beneath the elastic of her knickers, her eyes flew open. She looked down and saw Marco’s almond-shaped eyes staring straight at her, his face taut with desire.
…
Marco needed to taste her again. Deftly, he crawled back up the bed and took possession of her mouth, burying his tongue into her sweet warmth before feathering kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, inhaling the fragrant scent of her skin.
“You taste like honey,” he breathed before hooking her dress up and pulling it over her head. He kissed each eyelid again and then sat back down to stare at her, naked save her knickers. Using just his little finger he pulled them down, his lips following the lacy trail until they reached their destination and he yanked them off her feet and threw them onto the floor.
To his eyes, Pippa was flawless. Her slim figure was smoothly defined, silky soft to his touch, her damp blond triangle tantalizing. Not even Michelangelo could have sculpted such perfection.
When he reached the top of her thighs, he gave them a gentle nip.
Unable to resist, he caught a perfect breast in his mouth, tasting and caressing.
While she writhed beneath him, he slipped a hand between her thighs. She jolted, and clamped his hand tightly in place with her thighs.
The strength of her response almost pushed him over the edge.
Breathing heavily, he checked himself.
“Please, Marco.” Her voice was a heavy slur. “Please…”
He slid a finger into her velvet moistness, marveling at the physical evidence of her desire and the massive pulse of electricity it caused to surge through him.
Dear God, what was happening to him?
Replacing his hand with his mouth, he inhaled her musky scent and had to check himself again as he felt his groin pulse.
Jeeze. He was on the verge of coming.
With Pippa, an act he had always performed without ever expecting to gain any personal enjoyment from was fast becoming an act so erotic he feared he would erupt. He was fighting to hold onto himself, trying to keep his head while she clutched at his hair, mewing noises escaping from her throat, her foot rubbing up and down on the mattress in increasing motion until her back arched. Her orgasm was a silent wonder, the single most beautiful experience he had ever borne witness to.
He needed to possess her. Forget lust and desire. This was so much more.
When she finally stilled and her breathing became more even, he moved his mouth up to the flat of her belly, up to her creamy breasts, up past the delicate hollow of her throat until he found her kiss-blushed lips and darkened them further with a kiss full of the burning desire that threatened to unseat the last of his control.
“Do you want me to use protection?” he asked between kisses. Although desperate to be inside her without any restrictions, he couldn’t take for granted that she felt the same.
In response, she wrapped her hands tightly round his neck and brushed her fingers into the bristles on his nape. He rubbed his thick long shaft along her petaled opening while she raised her thighs and dug her fingertips into his scalp, deepening the entangling of their tongues.
Slowly, deliciously, he entered her. Her eyes flew open and locked on his, a look of wonder in her gaze that he knew was mirrored in his own.
Never had he felt such ecstasy, such completion. Making love to her, able to feel every sensation… It was the most incredible feeling in the world.
Slicked with sweat they clung together, lips meshed as he thrust steadily into her, driving in deeper and deeper, her nails running down his spine as she took every ounce of pleasure and gave back in equal measure.
His control was slipping. The act of sex had always been a fulfillment of his most basic needs, something he enjoyed immensely but to which he was able to keep a certain detachment. In the music room he had been able to keep that detachment by the skin of his teeth.
But not now.
He craved relief, but this was so much more. Something was dragging him further toward the edge of a dangerous vortex. He tried desperately to hold on but was weakening with every nerve-tingling thrust inside her hot sweetness. When he felt the first spasm of her muscles clench onto him, pulling him deeper, he could hold on no more. He let go. With a loud, gravelly cry, he flung himself into her, spilling his seed deeply
as he fell into the abyss.
It was a long time before the spasms subsided. Stunned, he could not speak. For the first time ever, he was in no rush to break the union. With great reluctance, he rolled off, pulling her with him so her head nestled on his chest.
He could barely think.
All he knew for certain was that having Pippa locked in his arms, her legs entwined with his, made him feel complete. Content.
He listened as her breathing slowed and the fingers that had been idly playing with his chest hair stilled.
“I love you.” When the unwitting words escaped from his lips, a great weight lifted from his chest.
Pippa shifted slightly, her hand sliding across his chest to his side and locking on him.
For the first time since she had arrived at his home, Marco drifted into a contented sleep, the vat of acid in his guts finally dormant.
Chapter Fourteen
Pippa sat bolt upright, stifling a scream. Perspiration covered her brow, her heart hammered against her chest. In a flash, Marco turned on the bedside light and held her protectively, stroking her hair, kissing her face.
“Was it the same nightmare?” His voice was laced with concern.
She nodded mutely, the terror still vivid before her eyes.
She had hoped that saying good-bye to her mother and confronting the nightmare head-on would have extinguished it. Her only consolation was that this time she had been able to wake herself up, something she had managed to train her childhood self to do. She needed to wake before she heard her mother’s scream. If she left it any later, as she knew from dreadful experience, she became catatonic and unable to do anything but ride it out as vividly as the day her mother drowned for real.
But she still had demons to confront and until she faced them she would never be able to move on, not properly.
For the moment, though, the dream was fading. His gentle strokes and kisses soothed her.
“Stay,” he murmured into her hair, making no attempt to loosen his hold.
“Here?”
“Yes, here. With me.”
She breathed in his musky scent, the temptation to say yes surprising her with its strength. Sweet visions filled her mind of her and Marco together. Properly together. But the visions were blurred. As hard as she tried to get them to focus, they still had a thin layer of fog covering them.
Silence lingered between them until he kissed her head. “Let’s talk about it in the morning. Are you ready for me to turn the lights out?”
She held on tight to him. “I… I think so.”
Slowly, he brought her back down and under the covers, not breaking the physical connection between them, not even when he leaned over to switch the light off.
For an age she rested against him, a sense of peace enveloping her. She could feel the thud of his heart beneath his warm skin and inhaled his musky saltiness, taking comfort from its familiarity.
Soon the aching terror of her nightmare fully dissipated, replaced by an ache of a much different kind.
This time when they made love Pippa took the lead, absorbed in worshipping him with her body just as he had worshipped her. An act that had always repulsed her now proved to be so erotic she was left desperate for his possession.
When, a long time later, she again fell limp and replete in his arms, her sleep was dreamless.
…
When Marco awoke he was cold. He was also alone.
He checked his watch. It was eight a.m. By rights he should have been in the office, but after making love until the sun had come up, work was the last thing on his mind. The first, the last, the only thing on his mind was Pippa.
Throwing the covers off, he pulled on a pair of clean undershorts and went in search of her.
When he opened her bedroom door he found her standing over her bed zipping her suitcase.
“What are you doing?”
She glanced up at him before her eyes began to dart in all directions. “Finishing my packing.”
“I can see that. Why are you packing?”
“Because my flight leaves in four hours.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.” She turned back to her suitcase.
Ice began to creep through his veins. After the night they had just shared, after everything they had been through, she was leaving? “Why?”
“It’s time for me to go. My taxi will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Were you going to sneak out without the courtesy of saying good-bye?”
“No.” She rubbed at her eyes. He could see the strain lining her face, but more than that he could see the resolve hardening on her skin. A spike of pure fear penetrated his heart. He recognized that look.
“I would never have gone without saying good-bye. What you and I shared last night was wonderful, but we’ve already said it can never be anything more.”
“That was before. Pippa, we’re good together. Last night proved that.”
“Last night was great sex. Please don’t try to twist it into something more than it was.”
“It was more than that and you know it. Why else do you think I asked you to stay?” He tried to temper his tone, but the foundations under his feet were beginning to crumble. He could feel them loosening, starting to drag him down.
Her cornflower eyes were unwavering. “Marco, there are things I need to do, things that don’t involve you.”
“Like what? Spell it out for me. Tell me exactly why you sneaked out of my bed and were planning your escape.”
Something that looked a lot like pain flitted across her features. “I need to see my father.”
“Then let me come with you.”
“No. It is something I need to do alone. He is my father and this is my problem.”
“Goddammit, Pippa, will you stop pushing me away?” He reached for her hand but she anticipated his move and dodged out of his way. “You do know that I love you?”
“Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she beseeched, her eyes filling with emotion. “I need to know what is so wrong with me that he can’t bear to even look at me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Marco said vehemently, his loathing of James Rowantree increasing by a billion percent.
“Well, clearly there is and until I learn why, I haven’t got a hope in hell’s chance of moving on.”
“And does this moving on involve me?”
She didn’t answer, simply bit her lip and cast her eyes to the floor.
“You’re not coming back, are you.” It wasn’t a question. He could see it in her eyes. She was leaving for good.
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“What are you so scared of, Pip? What is it that won’t let you see how good things could be between us?”
Her eyes clouded with what looked suspiciously like tears. “I don’t know. You say you love me, but I don’t even know what love is. When I was little, my father used to say he loved me too, but when my mum died, any love or affection he felt for me died with her. All I know about love is that it can be withdrawn at a whim. Whereas you—you had that big rambunctious family to love and support each other. For you, love comes easy.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. “Do you think I’m not scared, too? Contrary to what you think, I’ve never been in love before either. I haven’t married because I have spent the past seven years waiting to meet a woman who makes me feel a fraction of the emotions you make me feel.”
Her eyes were wide with doubt. “How can you be so certain?”
Tracing a finger down her arm, he clasped her hand in his and brought it to his chest. “Because I feel it here. In my heart and in my soul.”
More doubt clouded her eyes and he pressed her hand hard against him, forcing her to feel the beat of his thundering heart.
“Tell me you don’t love me,” he challenged, throwing the last roll of the dice.
She shook her head, her chin wobbling.
“I can’t.”
“Then stay.” He heard the timbre of fear in his voice and stopped short before he gave in to the raging panic making mincemeat of his guts and got down on his knees and begged. He did have some pride left. In any case, he doubted it would make any difference. Once Pippa made her mind up about something, it took a near miracle to change it.
She brought a trembling hand to his face and lightly stroked his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
He held onto it and pressed a kiss in her palm. “Promise me one thing.”
“If I can.”
“When you realize that I truly do love you and that I’m not going to cast you aside, and when you stop being so scared and realize you love me too, come back to me.”
…
Pippa sat on her father’s sofa cradling a cup of tea, holding the saucer steadily in her hand. She had been sitting there for the grand total of six minutes.
Her father sat rigidly in his particular armchair. Her stepmother, upon seeing Pippa at the door, had suddenly remembered an important meeting she had to attend at the Women’s Institute and let Shirley, the new housekeeper, take her through to her father.
“Obviously, I am delighted the charges against you have been dropped,” her father said in his formal manner. “It is a great relief. I take it Marco fixed things? I saw the pictures in those tabloids of the pair of you together.”
“No, Dad. Marco didn’t have to fix anything. The charges were dropped because I am innocent.” As Marco had known without her having to prove a damned thing.
“Well that’s marvelous. Marvelous. Now, if you will excuse me, I am expected at Raymond’s house for our weekly game of bridge. Finish your tea,” he added. “Shirley will see you out when you have finished.”
Pippa watched him get to his feet and walk to the door, and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. It was now or never. “Dad, why did you give up on me?”
His hand paused at the door. “I really am incredibly busy. Why don’t you make an appointment with Amelia and come back another day. Better still, we’ll meet you somewhere.”
“No, Dad, I’m not going to be fobbed off. Not this time. Please, sit down and talk to me.”
Tempted by Trouble Page 14