An Awakening Desire

by Helen Bianchin

  Somehow she seemed to be floating, transported high on to a sensual plateau from which she never wanted to descend, and it wasn't until she felt the soft cotton sheets beneath her back that she realised they were no longer in the lounge.

  A subtle glow from a dimmed bedside lamp provided the room's only illumination, and was sufficient for her to be aware that she no longer wore the towel. Nor did Nick, his splendid, tautly muscled body a potent force, and her eyes dilated with a mixture of shock, anguish and pain, then became luminous as she silently begged fulfillment—too caught up with an aching physical need to struggle with her conscience.

  Afterwards she would fight self-inflicted recriminations, undoubtedly hate herself for not rising up out of this illusory torpor which appeared responsible for weighting her limbs and keeping her enmeshed within a sensual web so powerful that only total satiation could provide its release.

  Nick's mouth closed over hers, caressing, teasing, promising; yet just as she thought he'd deepen the kiss, his lips softened to brush a tantalising, evocative path over the curve of her mouth, until with a groan she lifted her hands and encircled his neck, tangling her fingers in the thick hair at his nape to hold fast his head.

  Her body moved against his, unconsciously inviting his possession. Deliberately releasing her arms, he began a shameless exploration of the soft hollows at the base of her throat before moving lower to savour the delicate curves of one breast with its sensitised, hardened peak, then traced a path to its twin.

  Slowly, with sensuous ease, his lips edged down over her ribcage, seeking the soft indentation of her navel before trailing lower.

  Her shocked protest brought no respite, and she was powerless to still the restless movements of her limbs as they threshed impotently against the promised ecstasy of his touch; wanting, craving for him to continue, yet too caught up with untutored inhibitions to allow him licence to what he sought.

  His mouth lifted to graze across her hip before tracing a path over her stomach to caress the curve of her waist, moving higher until his lips claimed hers in a deep, drugging kiss that wiped out any uncertainty.

  A treacherous hunger clamoured assuagement, and soft whimpering sounds emerged from her throat as she begged his possession, crying out as his head lowered once more to discover her ultimate feminine core.

  With deliberate eroticism he introduced her to an experience so fraught with sensual ecstasy she was unable to control its tide as it washed through her body, each successive wave seeming to lift her higher on to yet another sensory plateau.

  Just as she thought she'd scaled the heights, he began to feather light kisses in a steady upward trail to her breasts, and her body arched of its own volition as he bestowed each a lingering caress, then leapt with hunger as he lowered his body over hers and effected one sure thrust.

  She cried out as he began a slow, gentle pacing, withholding his pleasure until her body was in perfect accord with his own, then he guided her toward a euphoric vortex of emotion.

  Afterwards she lay spent, consumed with a sweet lethargy that made the simplest movement an effort. Even thinking about what had transpired between them brought a resurgence of languorous warmth, and her eyes flew wide open as Nick trailed gentle fingers across her cheek, then smoothed the thick auburn curls from her temple.

  Don't say anything, she implored silently. Don't spoil something so beautiful, I'll probably never again know its equal.

  His lips moved to her shoulder, caressing the delicate curves and hollows, before wandering with tactile sensuality to tease the lobe of her ear, taking it between his teeth then releasing it as he lifted a hand to her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.

  Emma let her lashes sweep down, protectively veiling her eyes, knowing the deep, slumbrous passion evident in their depths would reveal with startling clarity the extent of her emotions.

  She could feel his breath warm on her face as he leant forward and covered her lips with his own, softly, with a tenderness that made her want to cry. Then she gave an incredulous gasp as he caught hold of her hand and gently slid off Marc's wedding band and slipped it on to the third finger of her right hand.

  Without a word he lifted her left hand to his lips, brushing them against the pale, exposed strip of skin, and her eyes dilated with dawning anguish.

  Remorse, shame, flowed through her body, all-consuming as it mingled with guilt and a number of other equally untenable feelings.

  'Let go of the past, cara.'

  'I can't.' It was a cry from the heart, and she strove hard to regain her composure, hating herself, and Nick, with an intensity that was frightening.

  'You can,' he insisted quietly, and her breathing became ragged as her eyes filled with distress.

  'You're asking too much!' Emma whispered emotionally, wrenching against the hands that held her as she fought to be free. Except Nick wouldn't let her go, and she began to struggle in earnest, hating the ease with which he was able to reduce her wildly threshing form to impotent helplessness.

  His arms were like bands of steel, moulding her against his body as if he intended for her to absorb some of his strength, and after a while she became less rigid, her agitation decreasing as her breathing began to quieten.

  Slowly, with gradual perceptiveness, she became aware of the soothing movement of his hand as he traced a gentle path down the length of her spine, across her shoulders, then slid to her nape as his fingers began a tactile massage of the tense cores at the base of her scalp.

  His head moved slightly, and she felt his lips brush her forehead, then rest against one throbbing temple, caressing it with sensitivity for what seemed an age.

  With infinite gentleness he trailed his lips down to the edge of her jaw, then slipped lower to the delicate hollows at the base of her neck, tasting the sweet indentations with unhurried ease.

  'Please,' she begged brokenly as a traitorous warmth began to unfurl itself and steal treacherously through her veins. She felt herself tremble, and tears welled up behind her eyes until they became large pools of shimmering gold. 'Don't. I couldn't bear it.'

  His lips grazed the length of her throat, and she felt, sensed, his murmured endearment as they settled on the edge of her mouth to tease the fullness of her lower lip before beginning a gentle probing exploration of the soft moistness within.

  Nothing seemed to matter except the hungry desire spiralling through her body, encompassing and all-consuming until she became a willing supplicant, his to command in any way he chose.

  'Stay with me.' His voice was deep and husky, his gaze gleaming with passionate intensity, yet there was a stillness about him, almost as if he was waiting for her willing complicance.

  Comprehension brought forth a gamut of emotions, and she dared not look at him, or she'd be swept away by a complexity of sensations too diverse to analyse.

  'No,' she refused with a strangled gasp, and her eyes dilated with sheer torment as she stammered quickly, 'What you're asking—isn't fair. Annalisa—' Her voice trailed off, then returned in agonised indecision. 'How can I?' She was almost shaking with reaction, becoming aware of her nakedness, his. She looked wildly for something to cover herself, and grabbed hold of a nearby towel and wound it sarong-wise round her body. 'Please,' she implored, 'don't you see that it isn't possible?'

  His gaze was carefully inscrutable, his fingers gentle as they brushed lightly across her cheek. 'I can't persuade you to change your mind?'

  All too easily, she declared silently as she shook her head in mute negation. 'I must go.' It became imperative to leave now, if she was to retain a shred of sanity, and she almost ran towards the door in her hurry to get away.

  'Emma.'

  There was something in his voice that brought her to a standstill, and she let go of the doorknob and slowly turned back to face him.

  'Thank you,' he said gently.

  How could she respond to that? Reciprocate and assure him he was the most sensitive man she'd ever had the pleasure to know? Her limite
d experience with men precluded the necessary savoir-faire to utter even a simple acknowledgment, and she dragged her eyes away from the paganistic splendour he represented and moved quickly from the room.

  In the bathroom she quietly closed the door behind her and stepped beneath the shower, then she soaped every square inch of skin until it glowed before she rinsed off the suds and emerged to towel herself dry.

  A quick glance in the mirror drew forth a startled gasp, and her eyes widened in disbelief that the reflected mirror-image was herself. Why, she looked positively ethereal! Her mouth was soft and slightly swollen, and her eyes… They bore a dreamy expression, their depths secretive and gleaming with the intense satisfaction of sexual satiation. Anyone seeing her now would be in no doubt as to how she'd spent the previous few hours. All the evidence was there, and she closed her eyes in self-remorse, fearful that life would never again be the same.

  Don't think, she bade herself silently as she wound the towel around her slim curves and switched off the light.

  Within seconds she slid between the sheets of the bed in the room she shared with Annalisa, and she endeavoured to cull sleep in the hope it would provide a blissful oblivion from the numerous condemnations invading her brain.

  Perhaps a guardian angel looked down with beneficence, for it seemed only minutes before her eyelids fluttered closed, and she woke to the sound of Annalisa's bright voice mingling with that of Nick's deeper tones just outside the bedroom door.

  'Shall we wake Emma, do you think, Papa? Breakfast is ready, and it will get cold.'

  'Just a little longer, piccina, hmm? We can always order more later.'

  Without thought Emma threw back the covers and slid to her feet. Gathering up her clothes, she quickly donned bra and panties, then stepped into her half-slip and pulled on her skirt and blouse. Her hair, she groaned silently. What on earth could she do to restore it to some kind of order ? The small brush she carried in her bag was totally inadequate for anything more than the briefest tidying of her tumbled tresses. At least the village shops would open this morning and she could buy the necessary requisites!

  With a nervous gesture she smoothed the belt at her waist and fingered the top button on her blouse, then she took a deep breath and crossed to the door.

  'Good morning.' The words sounded overbright and false, even to her own ears and, while she offered Annalisa a warm smile, she let her gaze skim towards Nick without meeting his eyes. She couldn't. After last night, it took all her courage to face him.

  'Emma, you were fast asleep when I woke!' Annalisa cried as she closed the space between them. 'Come and eat breakfast. There's cereal and fruit, toast, coffee. Or you can have eggs, with prosciutto or salami.'

  'Toast and coffee will be fine,' she said quickly, and privately thought she'd be fortunate if she ate anything at all.

  'I trust you slept well?' Nick queried, and Emma aimed a quick smile in the direction of his right shoulder.

  'Yes, thank you,' she responded evenly. He knew precisely how she'd spent a few hours of the night, none of which had been occupied with sleeping!

  'Shall I pour you some coffee, Emma?' Annalisa asked solicitously, wielding the silver pot with ease as she filled her father's cup.

  'Please. I'd love some.'

  It was like playing a game, Emma determined with detachment. Nick's smile was as warm and friendly as it had ever been, his manner that of a man relaxed and totally at ease. Beneath the fringe of her lowered lashes she had the opportunity to view him unobserved—or so she thought until she incurred a gleaming glance full of passionate intensity, and something else she was unwilling to define.

  Thank heavens for Annalisa's presence, otherwise she wouldn't be sitting across the table sharing something as mundane as breakfast. The promise of precisely where she would be was reflected momentarily in his eyes, and a shaft of exquisite pleasure rose from deep within, spiralling rapidly until it encompassed her entire body.

  It was maddening to feel so—possessed, she decided shakily, aware that her breathing had quickened considerably and there was a painful lump in her throat.

  Consequently it was a relief to escape the confines of their suite and wander through the village. The Ferrari looked sadly the worse for its encounter with a post, and Nick was able to find out that the car would be ready early that evening.

  For the remainder of the morning they browsed among the village shops, lunched at a seaside bistro, then returned to the pensions to observe siesta and escape the heat.

  After a shower and a light meal Nick left to collect the car, and it was almost seven when they reached Salerno and joined the autostrada leading back to Rome.

  It was late when Nick brought the car to a halt outside the villa. Annalisa had lapsed into a fitful doze during the latter part of the drive, and Emma, ever conscious of Nick's immediate presence, took the easy way out and simply closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushioned head-rest. It precluded the need for conversation, and quite frankly she couldn't think of a thing to say to him. Her own thoughts were damning, her sense of self-recrimination increasing with every passing hour until her mind seemed filled with jagged sequences that taunted with kaleidoscopic confusion.

  'We have to talk.'

  Emma lifted her head slowly and turned towards the owner of that deep, slightly accented voice.

  'Whatever for?' she managed calmly, and glimpsed the slight hardening of his expression in the reflection of light illuminating the sheltered portico.

  'Don't freeze me out, Emma,' Nick warned quietly, and she bit back a swift retort as Annalisa stirred into wakefulness and asked if they'd arrived home.

  'Yes, we have,' her father imparted, shooting Emma a wry glance before shifting his attention to his daughter. 'And here is Zia Rosa to welcome us.'

  Emma reached for the door-handle and slipped out from the car, whereupon she was immediately enveloped in an affectionate embrace, and there was very little need for her to say anything at all in light of Annalisa's excited recounting and Nick's affirmation of the facts.

  'Maria will bring some refreshments,' Rosa insisted as she urged them towards the salone. 'You must be hungry.'

  'I'm thirsty,' Annalisa pronounced. 'Papa drove straight through without stopping.'

  'After feeding you an early dinner,' Nick pointed out teasingly, and she burst into delicious laughter.

  'Marinaded baby octopus! Emma was not impressed.'

  'There were other selections on the menu,' he chided good-naturedly as he greeted Enzo and accepted a glass of white wine.

  'Emma? What will you have?'

  Wine would undoubtedly go to her head, and she needed clarity of mind if she was to bear Nick's presence with any equanimity. 'Soda water will be fine,' she acquiesced, and met Enzo's faintly raised eyebrow with a slight smile. If only she could escape to her room, yet to do so too soon would be tantamount to an admission of sorts. It was bad enough that Nick could see through her pretence. To allow Rosa and Enzo to discern any subtle change in her relationship with their nephew would be more than she could bear.

  So she stayed where she was, listening as Rosa relayed a message for Nick that had come through from his office in Milan late the previous afternoon, then contained a mixture of disappointment and swift calculation when he returned from making the call to announce that he would have to absent himself for a few days.

  It cannot wait, unfortunately. An important associate has arrived unexpectedly from France, and he refuses to deal with anyone else.' One eyebrow rose in a semblance of wry resignation. 'No amount of appeasement will satisfy, despite the fact there are two men on hand more than capable of coping with him.' He shot Rosa a conciliatory smile. 'I've booked an early-morning flight. I hope you don't mind?'

  'Of course not,' Rosa determined at once. 'Annalisa must stay with us.' She lifted a hand as Nick would have intervened. 'No, I insist. You have been so kind to Emma while she has been here. Now it is my turn. Together with Annalisa, we wil
l explore the boutiques. Something, I have learned,' she continued with a wicked twinkle, 'men prefer to avoid.'

  'I could easily contact Silvana and have her take care of Annalisa for the time I will be away.'

  'Oh no, Papa, his daughter implored. 'I would much prefer to stay here at the villa with Zia Rosa and Emma. It will be such fun, I will hardly have time to miss you.'

  Nick's teeth showed white as he bit back his laughter, but his eyes were sober as he directed Emma a piercing glance, taunting silently if she would miss him.

  She caught his crystalline gaze and a faint line of colour ran fleetingly along her cheekbones, betraying the strength of her emotions. She felt bewitched and tormented by a memory that would live with her for ever—solitary, beautiful, and never to be repeated. Tomorrow she would ring the airport and book the first plane bound for Sydney.

  'It's late, piccina,' Nick directed gently. 'More than time you went upstairs to bed, hmm?'

  The young girl looked at him earnestly. 'Will you be gone before I wake in the morning?'

  'Probably,' he concurred musingly. 'I must leave the villa before six.'

  'Then I'll say goodbye now.' She crossed to where he sat and twined her arms around his neck. 'Take care, Papa. Hurry back.'

  'Indeed I shall,' he assured her, returning her kiss.

  It seemed a good opportunity for Emma to make good her escape, and she rose to her feet, indicating her intention to retire.

  'I'll come with you,' Nick declared, unwinding his lengthy frame from the chair. 'It's been a long day, and I have to make an early start.'

  She suffered his light clasp at her elbow, only because it was impossible to wrench away. He must have sensed her disquiet, for his fingers tightened with iron-like intensity, and she stood helplessly still as Annalisa bade them goodnight and ran lightly ahead up the stairs.

  'Would you prefer your bedroom, or mine?' Nick asked quietly, and silently mocked her as she broke into soft-voiced fury.

  'Neither!'

  'Such vehemence,' he said gently. 'When only last night you—'

  'Last night was a mistake!' she cried wretchedly.