by Susan Lewis
For a while she had almost felt jealous that the sea and all its magic had the power to move him so deeply, but as he spoke to her about it, pulling her into his arms and making her watch it with him, she had realized that for him to share this intensely personal side of himself was the greatest, most poignant gift he could give her.
At last the Valhalla was docked and with the sun now having disappeared altogether and night shrouding the small pockets of light that illuminated the pathway leading up to the hotel. Louisa felt Jake’s hand slip into hers and hold it tightly. It had only been a few minutes since they’d left the Valhalla, but already she could sense the change in him, as though an ill-wind had suddenly tossed him into a storm. She glanced up at his face and saw how pinched it had become and knew that it was because he was preparing to tell her what she was now almost afraid to hear. Her fear wasn’t that it would change her feelings for him, she knew nothing could do that now, it was because she just didn’t want anything to spoil today. But the spectre of his past, of all that he was involved in with Morandi and Consuela and Erik, was already stalking them as though it too had sailed with them from St Tropez, lurking in the shadows, and was now creeping behind them ready to pounce.
But she wasn’t going to let it take away the precious moments that lay ahead. She didn’t want it there, open and sore and bleeding between them, as they made love. She wanted, when he held her, to think of him and only him. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to persuade him, but she had to make him see that as soon as he let his secret go there would be no taking it back. There would no longer be what there was between them now, an unsullied, unspoken bond that had tied him to her because of her innocence of it all.
But as it turned out he didn’t need any persuading, for the moment he closed the door of their room behind him and saw the way she was standing there with fear and courage and a desperate need for him burning in her eyes he pulled her into his arms.
‘Hold me, Louisa,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Just hold me.’
And as she clung to him, pressing herself to him and willing him with all her might not to push her away now, she felt the power of his desire spreading through him. She moved against his hardness, looking up into his face, tracing his mouth with her eyes then gazing boldly, pleadingly into his eyes.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ he groaned as he lifted her in his arms. ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered as he laid her down on the bed.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and then she was kissing him with a passion and a desire she had never known in herself. The smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him was consuming her as his hands and his mouth moved over her. Taking the hem of her flimsy blouse she pulled it over her head and lay back on the bed, feeling the caress of his eyes on her breasts that were crying out for his touch. And then his mouth was on them and his hand moved to her waist, unfastening her belt and pushing inside her shorts. His lips were on hers now, his tongue probing deeply and wonderfully. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and pushing her hand away he undid them himself, stripping the shirt away then standing up to remove his jeans. His eyes remained on hers as she too removed her shorts.
He started to speak then stopped himself, closing his eyes as though to cover the pain.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered.
He laughed and looked at her again, his eyes shining with love.
And then he was naked and as Louisa’s eyes drank in the sheer beauty of his uncompromising masculinity, the hard muscles of his thighs, the firm dark skin of his abdomen and the solid, straining, enormity of his erection she could feel the power of her desire as though it and only it was controlling her body. She lifted herself up and took him gently in both hands, then lowering her head she drew him deep into her mouth.
‘Oh God,’ he murmured as her teeth sank softly into him and her tongue and her lips pulled at him. His hands moved into her hair and his head fell back as with her small, slender fingers she lightly caressed his balls and his thighs and his buttocks. ‘Louisa,’ he choked, ‘Louisa,’ and pulling her away he pushed her back onto the bed and lay down with her.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispered, sliding his hand down over her belly and pushing his fingers gently inside her. ‘Tell me how I can make you feel the way you’re making me feel.’
‘I already feel it,’ she said, her words echoing in his mouth as removing his fingers and running them back across the moist, hard bud he rolled onto her, kissing her and pressing himself to her.
Then at last it was as though the guilt of not holding onto his promise left him as the storm of his need broke and pushing his legs between hers, he began to lower his mouth down over her body, sucking hard on her nipples, biting them, pulling them right into his mouth, then kissing them, licking them and soothing them. With one hand he pushed her legs wider while with the other he held her tightly. Then his lips were descending to her navel, into the neat, dark thatch of hair between her legs and again he was kissing her, stroking her with his tongue, drawing the silky, tender flesh between his lips and she knew ecstasy then as though her entire self were dissolving into it.
‘Jake, please,’ she sobbed, writhing beneath him as she felt the first stirrings of climax.
His mouth came back to hers, warm and sweet and tasting of her as he kissed her. She circled his waist with her legs, using them to pull him to her. Then raising himself up on one arm he looked long and hard into her eyes as he lowered his hand and guided himself to her. She could feel the tip of him entering her as he pulled his hand away, and with their eyes still locked she felt him slowly, very slowly, start to penetrate her.
‘Oh my God,’ she murmured as she felt the moist, narrow depths of her yielding to his hardness.
He pulled back, pushed into her again, deeper, yet still careful not to hurt her. ‘Are you OK?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, then suddenly cried out as he thrust himself hard into her.
‘Ssh, ssh, it’s all right,’ he said, kissing the corner of her mouth.
‘I know,’ she breathed, tightening her arms and legs around him. ‘Oh Jake, I want you so much.’
‘I’m right here, right inside you now. Do you want that I stop for a moment?’
‘No! No!’ she cried. ‘I want you to make love to me. I want to feel you do that again and again.’
Raising his hips he began to move gently in and out of her. ‘Is this OK?’ he said, feeling the blood pulsing wildly through him and knowing that he wasn’t going to hold out much longer.
‘Harder, Jake,’ she gasped. ‘I want you to do it harder,’ and then he was hammering into her, throwing the force of his powerful body behind it, while searching for her mouth and tightening the grip on her hands.
She lifted her legs higher, arching her back and cried out again as he suddenly changed motion so that he was rubbing himself against her clitoris as he pounded into her.
Then he was wrapping her in his arms, holding her as close as he could as he felt the soaring pulse of her climax begin.
‘Jesus Holy Christ,’ he seethed, pounding her and crushing her and grinding his hips savagely as it kept on coming.
‘Jake,’ she said, all the strength in her now clenching fervently around him. ‘Jake,’ she whispered again.
He sucked her lips between his, holding her spine to stop her falling against the bed. He was as far inside her as it was possible to get now and he held her there, circling his hips and feeling her climax reaching its peak, pulling at him, grasping him in long, shuddering convulsions before starting slowly to subside.
At last he let her back go and fell breathlessly over her, keeping himself buried inside her. They were hot and sticky and their sweat was mingling like the heat of their uneven breath. But gradually their hearts slowed to a normal, steady pace and the aftermath of tension slowly released their limbs.
‘Mmm,’ Louisa moaned contentedly and luxuriously as her legs slid from his back. She opened her eyes and turned to
find him gazing into her face.
‘That was amazing,’ he said softly.
Her eyes started to dance.
‘It was …’
‘Oh please don’t give me marks out of ten,’ she groaned, making him laugh.
‘You’re off the scale,’ he said, kissing her. ‘But I knew you would be.’
‘But it was you who took me there,’ she smiled. ‘I think somebody’s got it wrong about quantity and quality, or maybe it’s just that you have both,’ she added making him laugh again.
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ she complained as he started to withdraw. ‘It feels so cosy like this.’
‘You’re incredible,’ he chuckled. ‘I just want to know why you happened to me, because I sure as hell don’t deserve you.’
‘But you’ve got me anyway and I dare you to do that all over again,’ she grinned.
But it was no good, she couldn’t stave off the spectre any longer and as he gently withdrew himself and kissed her briefly on the mouth, she sent a silent plea to God that she was going to be able to deal with whatever he told her now.
‘Are you hungry?’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for his shorts.
‘No. Are you?’
He shook his head then turned to look at her. His eyes were submerged in an emotion she didn’t at first recognize, then realizing with a sharp pang in her heart that it was guilt she lifted his hand and kissed it.
‘I told you, nothing’s going to make a difference,’ she whispered.
His face remained grim and lowering his hand to her breast she held it there. He ran his thumb back and forth over the hard nipple, but she could see his mind was elsewhere and when she took her hand away so too did he.
She watched him pull his shorts on, staring at his back, his broad, muscular shoulders, the tapering of his waist and wanted to touch him.
‘Did you bring something to cover yourself?’ he said, unravelling his jeans.
‘Do we have to get dressed?’
‘Trust me, you’ll want something by the time I’ve finished.’
Pulling herself up Louisa walked over to the door where he had put her overnight bag and took out a knee-length cotton wrap. As she turned to put it on she could see how his eyes were avoiding her nudity and suddenly she wanted to scream. This was so unfair, why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t they just be together and make love the way everyone else did without any ghosts coming to spoil it? But she merely slipped into the wrap, belted it and returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the edge.
It was a small room, but carefully, almost lovingly furnished with subtle, expensive fabrics, two enclosed casement windows that looked out over the sea and french doors that opened onto a white filigree balcony. Jake walked over to the mini-bar, his thin white shirt still unbuttoned and hanging loosely down over his hips, as he helped himself to a beer.
‘Would you like something?’ he asked Louisa, twisting off the top of the bottle.
She shook her head and watched him as he picked up an armless easy chair and carried it over to the bed to sit in front of her.
‘Oh God, I feel so nervous all of a sudden,’ she laughed shakily, pushing her fingers into her hair. ‘Do I really need to know?’
‘Do you want to know?’ he asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. But maybe I should tell you I already know about the bathhouse. Morandi told Sarah.’
Jake chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, then looked down at the beer he was holding in both hands. ‘I don’t know what Morandi told Sarah,’ he said, ‘but he doesn’t have the full picture. Only Erik has that. And Consuela, of course.’
‘But are those women being blackmailed?’
‘Sure, some of them are,’ he answered. ‘Those I don’t manage to get to first. But there aren’t so many of them these days, not since I got Consuela to cut me in on it.’
‘But why did you do that?’
He stared at her for some time, but she could tell that he wasn’t seeing her as in his mind he mulled over the best way to answer that. Then his eyes moved past her and he said, ‘I had to know what she was doing. I had to be in a position to get something over her so’s I could find out the truth of what happened to my wife.’
Louisa’s heart dipped horribly, but she remained silent in the face of the anger that was now darkening his eyes and clenching his jaw. But his voice was still gentle as he spoke.
‘Martina,’ he said, ‘my wife, is Consuela’s daughter. We were married for three years before she died in a boating accident off Puerto Vallarta in Mexico.’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ Louisa murmured.
His answering smile was grim. ‘But it wasn’t an accident,’ he said, ‘she was murdered, at least I think she was, but I still don’t know for sure. The other boat came out of nowhere, they were on the Moonshine, our boat, before I knew what was happening and I was knocked unconscious. When I came round they were gone, and so was Martina. I stank of alcohol, which they must have poured all over me as well as down my throat and the Moonshine was drifting way out at sea with no other vessels in sight. So I took her in, went to report what had happened and two days later I found myself under arrest for the murder of my own wife.’
He paused for a moment as the pain and disbelief he must have felt at the time seemed to come back and steal threads from his voice.
‘There was no body,’ he said roughly, his breathing ragged with suppressed emotion, ‘and the search that followed didn’t turn one up either. So in the end, after my father had pulled a few strings, I was released from a hell-hole of a Mexican jail. I flew straight to Buenos Aires to find Consuela. I just knew she had to be behind it, and she was there, waiting for me.’ A note of savagery had crept into his voice now and his hands were tight on the bottle he was still holding. ‘And do you know what she told me?’ he said, with a bitter, incredulous laugh. ‘She told me that her people had found Martina’s body and taken it to where she – Consuela – was staying and that Martina had been certified dead by a doctor right there in Buenos Aires. Death caused by severe blows to the face and head that had crushed her skull before she’d been thrown into the sea.’
For a moment Louisa thought he was going to break down, but after swallowing hard he continued. ‘By then Consuela, the woman who had paid for the murder of her own daughter, had had Martina buried. She’d kept it all hushed up for my sake, she told me. She didn’t want to see me go to jail for the rest of my life, or face a death penalty, or even bear the stigma of what I had done. Shit, the way she carried on she nearly had me convinced I’d done it. But I knew she had and I knew why. Carmelo, Martina’s father, left everything to Martina when he died. He was worth millions and not one penny of it, with the exception of the villa on the Cap d’Antibes, went to Consuela. He’d never warned us he was going to do that, but he did, and his reasons for doing it have died with him. But piecing things together since, listening to those who knew Consuela and Carmelo when he was alive, it seems she had a pretty rough time in her marriage. He used to beat her, kept her locked up for months on end, shit, I don’t know what he did to her, all I know is she never wanted Martina to know what her father was really like. It’s the only decent thing I’ve ever known Consuela to do.
‘Anyway, after Carmelo died and we found out about the will Consuela went to pieces. Martina spent as much time with her as she could, but we hadn’t long been married and she didn’t like to be parted from me for long. So Consuela came to the States to stay with us. Martina and I talked endlessly with lawyers to see if there was a way she could give her mother the money, but one of the conditions of the will was that nothing other than what was stipulated should go to Consuela. Martina could do whatever else she wanted with her inheritance, but she couldn’t give it to her mother. So we paid a great deal of it over to various charities in Argentina, saying it came from Consuela so that no one would know that her husband had d
one what he had and therefore salvaging her dignity.
‘It was while she was staying with us that I made what I knew even at the time was a mistake, but I never dreamt it would turn out to be the greatest mistake of my life, nor how much I was going to have to pay for it. I slept with the woman. Don’t ask me why, I barely know the reasons myself, except I felt sorry for her and what started out as comfort somehow turned into something else. Afterwards I couldn’t look at her without hating her, but I guess it was myself I hated for being so goddamned weak to have let things get out of hand that way. I told her she had to go, to pack her bags and be on the next flight back to Buenos Aires and that was when it all really started. She said if I pushed her out, sent her back to where she no longer even had a home, she’d tell Martina what had happened. I tried to persuade her to go to France where she did have a home, I even offered her the money to keep it running, but she wouldn’t go. She wanted to stay right there in San Diego, with us, where she got the most comfort in her bereavement, she said. So I had no choice. I had to let her stay because I just couldn’t stand the thought of Martina finding out that both her husband and her mother had betrayed her.
‘It was a living hell,’ he went on quietly. ‘Every time we were left alone in the house together she was at me, pestering me to go to bed with her again. She said if I didn’t she’d tell Martina we were sleeping together anyway. It got so that I was nearly at the point of telling Martina myself just to get the goddamned woman out of my life. Martina must have sensed the friction between us because in the end she was the one to tell her mother she had to leave. The two of them hadn’t been getting along so well either. Consuela was disrupting our lives in every possible way even to the point of coming into our bedroom at night and sitting there, crying, saying she didn’t want to be alone.